


phasmophobia

by danfic



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Phasmophobia (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Skephalo, Tags will change as story goes on, and because its maybe a little bit scary later on, bad is a ghost hunter, but only kinda?, ghost hunting is in later chapters, no beta we die like men, rated teen only because of swearing, this is a phasmophobia au, this is romantic skephalo not platonic so be warned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danfic/pseuds/danfic
Summary: Darryl is a small time ghost hunter looking for his next job, and he's new in town. He moves into the room opposite Zak's in preparation for his biggest job yet. Zak never even begins to imagine just how much the self proclaimed "Bad Boy" could turn his life upside down.Not to mention the strange figures that've started to find their way into his dreams.
Relationships: Skeppy/Badboyhalo, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 43
Kudos: 194





	1. who ya gonna call?

**Author's Note:**

> ***EDIT 26/01/2021: ALL CHAPTERS HAVE BEEN REWRITTEN AND UPDATED!! i would highly recommend rereading but u dont have to :-)***
> 
> -
> 
> hello! this fic will update hopefully weekly (edit 11/02/21 - this was a blatant lie. oops. my schedule varies depending on the chapter but updates are never longer than like 3 weeks max probably). chapters 1 and 2 are done and are going up straight away but i do write faster with positive reception so if you enjoy be sure to let me know!
> 
> i primarily refer to skeppy as zak instead of skeppy in this fic! i know some people arent a huge fan of real names in fics but it seemed weird for him to refer to himself as skeppy (see chapter 2) :-) however bad is still called bad and bad calls him skeppy so i dont think its too obnoxious.
> 
> my twitter is @imissbadboyhaIo (with an i instead of an L in halo) and i sometimes ramble about the fic there. my comments on ao3 are broken so it wont let me reply to any comments on the fic but i appreciate all of them very very much!! 
> 
> enjoy the fic!

It’s the middle of the afternoon when the truck wakes him up.

Zak raises his head irritably at the rude awakening, tangled in his blankets and very much comfortable where he is. He very much wants to retreat back to the world of his bed and sleep until it’s time for his next shift at the store, but the incessant rumbling outside his window makes it irritatingly difficult to drop back off to sleep. Instead, he lays there, cursing the day he ever decided to move in and yanking his pillow over his head.

So he’s being a little bit dramatic. Sue him.

If he’s being honest, he should realistically have gotten up probably about four hours ago, but he’d finished his shift the day before at 11pm and had gone to bed about 5 am and although he knows he’s been in bed long enough by now, he’s vehemently opposed to dragging himself back out of it.

The sounds outside continue for a few more seconds, and then die down, leaving Zak’s bedroom bathed in sunlight and the sound of the birds in the pine tree.

He dozes restlessly for another minute or so, and then, irritated by the sudden silence, gets up and begrudgingly trudges over to the window to satisfy his own curiosity. He pushes aside the curtain, and once his eyes have finished adjusting to the sunlight, he manages to pick out an oldish looking red truck parked at the side of the house. There’s a few boxes stacked up in the back, but other than that, it’s empty. 

The owner of the building has been trying to rent out the room opposite his for a while now. If he’s actually managed to convince some poor, unknowing soul to take it, Zak thinks, scoffing to himself, he’ll be impressed.

So maybe that was also a little bit dramatic. Again, sue him.

Despite his greatly exaggerated complaints about the house, it’s an admittedly cozy little building tucked away on a back street, with a kitchen and bathroom to share between the two bedrooms. It’s on a quiet street in a quiet small town with plenty of nature and, although it’s nothing like busier streets he’s used to back home, Zak likes it well enough, he supposes. It gets lonely in the house sometimes (he can’t say he’s lonely in the godforsaken store with Vurb and Spifey constantly harassing him as he works), and so the idea of a new neighbour and some new company… well, that’s not something he’d exactly be opposed to, to say the least.

He opens the door of the kitchen two minutes later, having gotten dressed a little more hurriedly than usual today, to find that there’s someone standing in the middle of it. The stranger jumps as he walks in, turning quickly to meet his gaze.

“Oh, hello,” the stranger says, a box in his arms. He has green eyes and glasses and, with his shirt and sweater combo, Zak thinks he looks like a huge nerd.

“Hey,” Zak says politely enough, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not breaking in or anything, are you?”

“What? No!” the stranger retorts, face flushing a bit. He pushes his glasses back up his nose indignantly. “I rented the spare room! Room B…? And that’s not a nice thing to say to someone you just met!”

“I’m just messing with you, dude,” Zak says, chuckling. “You want help?”

The stranger hesitates, as if the fact he perceived him as a burglar personally offended him, and then nods somewhat reluctantly, gesturing towards the few boxes he seems to have accumulated in the corner by the door. Zak recognises them as the ones that were stacked up in the truck by the somehow both neat and illegible sharpie writing on the side. He picks up the one closest to him, and they set off down the hallway together, heading back the way Zak came.

“I would never steal from someone,” the stranger says, still sounding slightly miffed, and Zak can’t help but laugh again.

“Yeah, you don’t look the type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zak raises his eyebrows at him, readjusting his grip on the box so he doesn’t drop it. It’s absurdly heavy - heavy to the point Zak wouldn’t be surprised if it was full of just straight up chunks of metal. “Are you saying you _are_ the type to rob someone? ‘Cause I don’t think a robber is gonna walk around in a fancy shirt and some cozy old sweater.”

“What? I’m a bad boy! I could rob someone!” The stranger huffs and starts up the stairs, and Zak follows suit, shaking his head at the stranger’s sudden change of heart. This has to be one of the most eventful mornings he’s had, which, if he thinks about it, is actually kinda sad.

They reach the landing, and instead of turning right to get to his bedroom like he usually does, he turns left, stopping outside the spare room.

“Bathroom there,” Zak begins, pointing to the door on their right and the door opposite in turn, “And my room there.”

“Thank you for your help, uh…” Mr Bad Boy looks at him for a second, as if thinking hard, and Zak realises he never told him his name. 

“Zak,” he offers.

“Zak. Well, thank you for your help, but I’ll do the rest. It’s already almost three in the afternoon, and I’m sure you have things to—”

“What?” Zak interrupts, the rest of Bad Boy’s sentence lost on him. Oh no. He’d thought it was, like, 1 at the latest. His shift is at 3, and—

“Huh?”

“What time did you say it was?”

Bad Boy frowns at him, confused, and then glances down at his watch. “Like... 2:55?”

“Shit!” Zak dumps the box outside the door, sounding a resounding metallic _clank!_ and a shrill yelp from Bad Boy, and then hurtles back down the stairs, yanking his jacket off the end of the banister as he goes. He tears out of the house, pulling on his jacket as he stumbles down the mildly overgrown front path, yelling out a harried “sorry!”.

Bad Boy’s returned flustered yell of “language!” lingers in the back of his mind as he runs.


	2. if i betray our lonely nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zak finishes work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from out like a light - the honeysticks
> 
> chapter 2! enjoy!

He gets back from his shift at 11pm again. By then, the sun has long dropped from the sky, which means he leaves the chemical-smelling linoleum-bathed world of the grocery store behind in favour of darkness as he gets out of his car and heads for the front door.

He performs his daily wrestle with the sticky lock on the front door (thoroughly reminding him why he usually heads around the back, instead, but he’s so tired he forgot entirely), and—

He stops.

The smell of real, fresh cooking is unmistakable. The last time he smelled anything like this was back at his parents’ house, and it’s… nice. Familiar. He takes off his jacket, dumps it on the banister, and then heads into the kitchen to investigate.

He finds himself slightly disappointed to find that it’s empty, but there’s a small pot on the stove that the smell seems to be coming from. Upon closer inspection, Zak decides it’s probably some sort of soup. There’s also a shopping bag on the counter - did Bad Boy come to the store today? - with some fresh ingredients still left out. Although he’d desperately like nothing more than some of whatever that smell is coming from, he knows it’s not his to mess with and instead takes a spoon out of the drawer and the jar of his favourite peanut butter out of the kitchen cupboards. A snack is better than nothing, and he’s starving.

He takes it back into his room, collapsing on his bed with a sigh, but before he can even start thinking about the jar of peanut butter in his hand, he’s asleep.

-

“Hey!”

Zak wakes up with a jolt and blinks, looking dazedly around the room and propping himself up on his elbows. Bad Boy is standing next to his bed with a couple of bowls in his hands, looking suspiciously towards the jar of peanut butter.

“I made some soup, do you want any?”

“...Huh?” Zak sits up properly, rubbing his eyes, and Bad Boy sits on the edge of his bed. A bowl appears in his lap, and he’s not sure if he blinks at the sudden apparition of a bowl or whether it was how gently it was put there.

“I made soup,” Bad Boy repeats, but he doesn’t elaborate further, instead picking up the forgotten jar half buried in one of the blankets. Were you eating… that? For dinner?”

“What, the Skeppy?” Zak says, through a mouthful of the soup he’s already started demolishing. It’s very, _ very _ good soup; probably the best food he’s had since he lived with his parents. Zak definitely isn’t the best chef in the world, and whilst sometimes he might attempt something a little more healthy than mac and cheese or takeout picked up on his way home from work, he usually just sticks to the basics (and if he’s being honest, his knowledge of how to cook even basic things without managing to set it on fire somehow is also lacking), so this is...

“The what?” Bad Boy says, a hint of laughter in his voice. Zak suddenly realises his mistake, snapping out of the world of soup.

“Skippy. I said Skippy.”

“You did not,” Bad boy chuckles. “Is that seriously what you were eating, Mr. Skeppy? That’s not good for you!”

“I fell asleep before I could start eating it!”

“That’s even worse!”

Zak shakes his head at the situation, finding himself chuckling lightly at Bad Boy’s mothering. “It’s not that bad. I usually wake up at a normal time and make myself actual food in the mornings, I swear.”

For a little while, they simply sit in silence together and eat soup, the only light in the room coming from the faint fairy lights he hung up at the opposite end of the room in an attempt to make it feel a bit more homely. They’re running out of battery now, and he can’t be bothered to replace them, so twinkle on dimly they will.

“There’s more soup in the pan,” Bad Boy interjects, the first one to break the quiet of the room, and Zak realises he’s cleared his bowl of soup. Bad Boy seems to look a little concerned at the rate he’s cleaned it out, and Zak shakes his head at him.

“It’s okay. I should probably head to bed, actually. But thank you for the soup, Bad Boy.”

Bad Boy nods and goes to pick up Zak’s bowl, and then stops, frowning at him.

“Did you just call me Bad Boy? My name is Darryl!”

Zak stares at him for a second, trying to work out what he said wrong, and then laughs. He’s so tired that he didn’t even realise he said it out loud.

“You said you were a bad boy this morning, didn’t you?”

“That doesn’t mean that’s my name,” huffs Bad Boy, and Zak laughs again. He realises they’re both holding his bowl, and he lets go, letting Bad Boy take it from him. He collapses back into the blankets as Bad Boy stacks their bowls together, fully prepared to go to sleep both on top of the covers and still wearing his clothes.

“Night, Bad,” he mumbles, too half asleep to finish the rest of his impromptu nickname.

“At least put pyjamas on before you go to sleep,” Bad says, but Zak’s already too far gone to care. The last thing he hears is a soft “night, Skeppy” and the gentle click of his bedroom door as it shuts before the pull of sleep has taken him under entirely.

-

_ He opens his eyes and finds himself standing… somewhere. It’s dark. He looks left, and then looks right, straining his eyes into the coal-ink-graphite void, and sees nothing. _

_ Why is there nothing? Where is he? _

_ Panic bubbles like acid in his stomach and he sets off running, feet pounding against the ground of whatever emptiness he’s been thrown into, his breaths sticking to his throat. He stops, and he isn’t sure why he's stopped until he feels the cold behind him. He turns, and two white voids stare back - two blank eyes that bore deep into his soul and make him stumble and fall backwards in his haste to get away - and then the eyes engulf him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading so far! hopefully wont be too long until chapter 3 :-) let me know if you enjoyed!


	3. 'cause your white curtains, they are paper thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So a ghost hunter, a shop assistant, and an EMF reader walk into a bar...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look at me actually updating something :-) what a legend  
> title is from watch you sleep by girl in red!! enjoy :)

He wakes up.

He scrambles into a sitting position with a harsh gasp, digging his fingernails into the hard wood of his floor and looking around wildly just to see the same old four walls of his bedroom staring back at him dully, boring and white as ever. He dimly registers his comforter on the floor a few feet away from him, the corner ever so slightly brushing against the edge of his foot. He toes it away irritably and twists around to glance at the clock on his bedside table.

5:02 am. He groans, dropping his head into his hands.

So much for waking up at a normal time today.

He’s making his way down to the kitchen by 5:05, yawning as he goes. Today, he’s the first one in there, with yesterday’s soup pot and bag of groceries gone from the counter top. Reaching for some bread to cram into the ancient toaster that he’s not convinced isn’t a fire hazard, he finds his mind drifting back to last night. That has to be the nicest thing anyone’s done for him in a while.

And he barely even knows him.

He sighs to himself, letting his eyes wander sleepily across the kitchen, and then he spots the waffle maker left out on the side near the sink where he’d made waffles a few days ago and forgot to put it back in its cupboard. He pauses, hand holding the bread hovering over the toaster, and then puts it back in the packet. He checks the cupboards and the fridge, giving the suspiciously empty milk bottle a ginger shake (and taking out the bag of gluten free flour from the cupboards that  _ definitely _ wasn’t there before), and gathers everything together on the counter.

Hopefully Bad Boy likes waffles, because he’s about to repay him for that soup.

-

“Bad Boy?” he calls, standing outside his door. He taps again, a little louder than the first time, balancing one of the waffle-laden plates precariously on his knee. “Bad!”

“Ah— come in!” comes a voice from the other side, sounding harried, and so he does. He carefully shuts the door behind him, sees Bad boy still in bed and looking a little bit startled, propped up on one arm and squinting - is it because of his lack of glasses or the sun seeping through the not even  _ pretending _ to be opaque curtains? Zak thinks it’s probably a bit of both - and then feels bad.

“Oh, did I wake you? My bad.” For some reason, it had never occurred to him that normal people would not be awake at five in the morning.

Whoops.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I was about to get up anyway.”

“At 5 am? Why?” Zak says, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of his bed. He hands one plate and a fork to Bad, who blinks sleepily, fumbling on his bedside table for his glasses before sitting up.

“5:30,” Bad corrects him, pushing the glasses onto his face and self consciously running a hand through his hair, “And for work. Ooh, is this for me?”

“Yeah! You made me soup, so I thought I’d… you know, return the favour.”

“I appreciate the gesture, don’t get me wrong, but I can’t eat gluten,” he says, looking at them sadly, so Zak grins.

“I saw the gluten free flour in the cupboard and figured. They’re gluten free, don’t worry. And I checked all the other ingredients just in case,” he says, proud of himself for connecting the dots. He’s definitely not the most observant person out there, so as Bad looks between him and the waffles and his face breaks out into a sunny smile, he marks that as a win in his book.

“Well, thank you very much! I really appreciate that,” Bad says warmly, neatly cutting himself a forkful. “I don’t usually eat breakfast. Unhealthy, I know, but sometimes that’s just how the muffin crumbles when you’re a busy guy.”

Zak clumsily manages to break the corner off his own waffle and takes a bite. The gluten free waffles aren’t anywhere near as bad as he was expecting, and Bad seems content with them too, so he mentally marks that down as a second win as he does his best to avoid spilling crumbs onto Bad’s bed.

They really need to start eating at the table like normal people.

“So, what do you do for work, anyway?” Zak asks, mind wandering back to why any normal person would want to wake up at 5 am, and sees Bad hesitate a little, fork hovering in mid air.

“Ah… it’s not very interesting,” Bad says, taking another bite of waffle.

“Does it have to do with this?” Zak holds up the weird handheld device-thing he’d noticed out of the corner of his eye next to him when he’d sat down, and Bad gasps in surprise, dropping his fork hastily with a clatter on his plate and reaching for it.

“Oh my goodness, yes! Stop waving it around, it’s fragile!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Zak says, chuckling to himself and letting the other take the device and cradle it protectively in his hands. “What does it do?”

Bad seems to falter a little at the question. He breaks eye contact for a few seconds and then shakes his head, setting it aside.

“Nothing, really,” he says, like a liar.

“You don’t have to tell me. Don’t worry about it,” Zak says reassuringly, going for another bite of waffle, but then Bad looks back over at him and holds his gaze. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again, but Zak isn’t paying full attention because he knows those eyes are  _ supposed _ to be green - he’d registered that much yesterday - but they look so much like gold-green stained glass in the light of the sun coming in through the curtains that it kind of knocks the breath out of him.

Oh no.

Bad holds something out to him, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts. It’s the device, now powered on.

“This is an EMF reader,” says Bad, voice a little quieter than it had been before. Zak glances up at him, and then takes the device carefully, making sure to be extra gentle with it as he peers at the screen.

“What does it do?” he asks, turning it over in his hands and watching the little arrow hover at 0.

“It reads electromagnetic fields in the air. Which, in basic terms, you can use to, um, find a ghost,” Bad says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Which works because the…”

Zak stops listening after the word “ghost”. He stares down at the tool in his hands, and then shifts his gaze back up to meet Bad’s, mouth slightly open. He watches Bad trail off from the sentence he wasn’t listening to in the slightest, and then they’re back to just looking at each other.

“Oh, was I going on too m—”

“You’re a— you _hunt_ _ghosts_?” Zak interrupts excitedly, face splitting into a grin. “That’s so fucking cool!”

“Language!” Bad says, shaking his head sternly, but there's no real force behind it. Zak doesn’t miss the evident relief in his voice or the small smile on his face, either. “It’s not… okay, I guess it’s  _ kinda _ cool.”

“Is that why you moved in? Are you, like, on a mission or something?”

“They’re not called  _ missions _ ,” Bad huffs, snatching back the device Zak’s started waving around again eagerly and carefully setting it down on the bed. “But… yes, I moved in because I’m on a job. It’s not far from here. Maybe ten minutes in the truck.”

“ _ On a job _ ,” Zak repeats, more out of curiosity than mocking, and then eats the last bit of waffle on his plate. “You aren’t gonna bring the ghosts back here, are you?”

“...What? Skeppy, that’s not how ghosts work.”

“Do you, like, have a cage you put them in, and then you release them into other people’s houses, and—”

“Skeppy!  _ No! _ Oh my goodness, you muffinhead, don’t  _ say _ that!”

Zak giggles at Bad’s flusteredness (and ridiculous use of ‘muffinhead’), but Bad isn’t paying attention anymore.

“I wasn’t keeping track of time! Dang it!” Bad glances down at his watch and then slips the plate off his lap and scrambles out from under the covers, almost self consciously brushing off his pyjamas. “I have to go get started! I don’t want to ruin my schedule.”

Zak is extremely curious to know what he means but ‘get started’ but he doesn’t want to make him any more late, so he settles with scooping up Bad’s plate and stacking it on his instead.

“Thank you for the breakfast!”

He looks back up from where he’s trying to balance the forks on the top plate, eyes meeting Bad’s once more, and for some reason he thinks Bad’s cheery smile at only about 5:30 in the morning as he wrestles with the lock on a faded looking suitcase - did he actually forget to unpack last night in favour of making  _ soup? _ \- might just knock him out if he isn’t careful.

“Of course, dude.” He heads for the door, giving him a quick smile in return as he closes it behind him with a soft click. He makes his way down the stairs, almost dropping the forks he’d so painstakingly stacked up back in Bad’s room, and finds himself hoping he’ll see him again today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now i just really want waffles ://  
> i........ got bored of rereading this chapter for mistakes LMAO so if you find any let me know so i can fix them :-)  
> hope you enjoyed! chapter 4 wont be long!


	4. i used to hate the serious, i used to be so silly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A promise is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the big gap between updates!! here is chapter 4 :)  
> chapter title is from lost in you by khai dreams!

Bad moving in turns out to be one of the best things Zak thinks has ever happened to him.

They fall easily into banter with each other as a week passes by. Once they get past the initial phase of awkwardness and getting used to living with the other, chatting seems to come naturally to them, and there’s countless times when Zak has actually come painfully close to missing shifts at the store just because they’ve gotten caught up talking with each other in the kitchen or on the landing or— well.  _ Everywhere _ . Bad doesn’t seem hugely open to talking about his personal life, but he finds out that he’s 25 and lived in Florida all his life before moving in here, and sometimes late at night if they’re both sleepy and sat on the couch after a movie he’ll tell him about some of his past jobs and Zak will listen intently. Bad is admittedly not the greatest storyteller and will go off on a hundred tangents before reaching his main point, but for whatever reason, Zak never finds himself getting bored.

So when he hears the living room door open as he’s watching some god awful reality TV show he never caught the name of after his 11pm work shift, the exhaustion weighing on his shoulders seems to lift a little.

“Oh, hi!” Bad says cheerily, looking up from the papers in his hands and smiling at him.

“Hey hey,” Zak answers. He tries to inject a bit of enthusiasm into his voice to match Bad’s cheery demeanor, but he gets the impression it falls a little flat from the concerned look that immediately gets thrown his way.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m just a little tired, dude. Whatcha doing?”

“Just reading over my notes.” He sits down on the floor by the coffee table, throws another worried glance over to him, then spreads his papers over it in some sort of order that probably makes sense to him, but to Zak just looks like a bunch of scribbles and diagrams spread across a coffee table. 

“What’s that?” Zak asks, leaning forward a little to try and get a better look.

“It’s just work. Thought a change of scenery might be nice, so I figured I’d… you know, come down here for a little,” Bad says, and Zak catches a tinge of embarrassment colouring his voice. 

He doesn’t question it, instead yawning and stretching before settling back into the couch. He manages to focus on the awful TV show (why did he even put this on in the first place? He  _ hates _ reality TV) before the slight scratch of Bad’s pen on his paper is just perfectly distracting enough to tear his vision away. He watches as he adds another line to his diagram, scrawling something that Zak can’t make out at all, gaze slipping back into what he’s picked up on as Bad’s focused mode, and then realises that he’s being kind of weird and looks away.

He’s desperately trying to tune back into the TV when a soft clear of a throat distracts him again, and he turns his gaze back to meet Bad’s.

“Am I distracting you? You looked like you were kind of spaced out on me there.”

Oh god. He noticed.

“No— no, not at all!” Zak says quickly, shaking his head. “No, I was just— I was just wondering what you were doing cause it just looks... it’s— like, it’s interesting how… wait, are you laughing at me?”

“No!” Bad chuckles, like a liar. “I’m not! Okay, I am. Just a little. But Skeppy, if you wanted to see, you could’ve just said so!”

“But that’s  _ weird! _ ” Zak is really not liking how hot his face is getting, and for some reason, watching Bad giggle at his awkwardness doesn’t help the situation.

“It’s not weird! Here. Come sit. I’ll show you.” Bad pats the spot on the floor next to him, and Zak relents, scooting off the couch and moving around the coffee table to sit next to him. The ink is somewhat faint in the light of the TV - Zak hadn’t bothered to turn on the light when he came in, and neither had Bad - but he can just about make out the letters and the drawings well enough as Bad points to them.

“It’s just planning. This is a map of the house the ghosty is at.” He points at one piece of paper that has a layout plan on, and then moves it aside to reveal a scratchy, slightly wonky drawing of a house underneath. “And that’s the outside of it. I usually just print out a picture so I definitely don’t make any mistakes, but I haven’t gotten the printer set up yet, so I just made a rough little sketch. It’s… not very good.”

“Nah, dude, I think it’s good,” Zak says sincerely, picking up the drawing. He swears he’s seen that house somewhere before, but he can’t work out where no matter which way he looks at it, so he puts it back down in its place.

“Thank you!” Bad smiles, looking pleased, and then moves onto the other sheets. “And this pile is just notes, like... here. This is the ghosty’s name. I’m pretty sure it’s Ruth Garcia.”

“Ruth,” Zak repeats, and then starts giggling.

“What? Oh, come on, she was a real person! She has to have a real name!”

“The fact you know what I’m laughing at says enough! I mean, come on, she could’ve been, like... I don’t know, Ruthatron, Destroyer of Worlds, or something, but she’s just… _ Ruth? _ Seriously?”

“Okay, you are ticking me off,” Bad says sternly, and Zak continues to giggle. “She has to have a normal name, Skeppy! She was once like you and me! She’s just…”

“Lame?”

“Dead!”

Zak laughs harder. “At least Casper the Friendly Ghost kinda sounds spooky! Ruth just sounds like some blonde mom on her way to pick up her kid from a dumb soccer game!”

“If it’s a soccer game of _ death _ , sure!” Bad retorts, but he’s laughing a little himself, too. “Skeppy, this ghost is actually dangerous!”

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” chuckles Zak, trying to calm his laughing fit. “And stop calling me Skeppy!”

“Stop calling me Bad, then!”

“No!”

“Then no!” Bad shakes his head, seeming both exasperated and amused. “Honestly. I am trying to _ work _ .”

“Work, then! I’m not stopping you!”

“Okay!”

“Okay!”

He finally manages to stop giggling, opting instead to watch as Bad reads off a section from a book he’s brought in with him and makes another little note by the name.

It’s miraculous to him how easily they can get along despite having only known each other for a week. Right now, sitting together with their knees almost touching and the TV as a quiet noise in the background and the gentle scratch of Bad’s pen as he writes putting him dangerously close to sleep, Zak feels like he’s known him forever.

He’d like to know him even longer.

“You know, if you ever need help with any of this ghost stuff, I’ll help you.”

Bad blinks, and then looks up, pen halting in place. “Huh?”

“I’ll help you if you need it.”

“I… well, I can always do with more hands—”

“So I’ll help you with Ruth. Deal?”

“Well, I… wait, now, hold on a second,” Bad says, chuckling. “Skeppy, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into, and you don’t know any of the equipment, or—”

“So? Teach me.”

Zak levels his gaze with his determinedly, and they sit there in silence for a few seconds before Bad puts down his pen. He glances over at his notes, and then back at him.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Yes!”

“...Pinky promise?”

Zak sighs, holding out his pinky. Bad blinks again, as if he’s surprised he actually complied, and then holds out his own, letting Zak gently hook them together. Dark brown eyes meet warm green once more.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading so far!!


	5. rainy day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zak wakes up to rainfall and white eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok ok OK ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE AN UPDATE!! im so sorry about that i was finding motivation hard!! this is a short chapter because i am posting the next one tomorrow for DEFINITE (it was going to be today but it needs editing) so sorry that its a slight cliffhanger!!
> 
> the chapter title is a song name this time instead of lyrics because i was listening to rainy day from the night in the woods soundtrack whilst writing this and it doesnt have words so i just thought id go with the title lol
> 
> also!! since sometimes notes at the end of chapters dont work! i have a twitter!! @imissbadboyhaIo except the L in halo is an uppercase "i" :) i will tweet updates on there about updates and general complaints about writing so if youre wondering where updates are ur best bet is to look there lol

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Zak releases his grip on the sheets, trying to focus on the light patter of the sound of rain against his window rather than the dark abyss of his nightmare. The brightness of those eyes linger in the back of his mind, and he shudders, shaking his head as if it will clear the memory like an Etch-a-Sketch.

It’s the third time he’s had the nightmare this week. It’s always the same: he wakes up in a void, he sets off running, and then the eyes come at him.

Always the eyes.

He shakes his head again, and then presses a palm against the dampness on his pillow. His forehead and palms are sticky with sweat, and he grimaces, running a hand through his hair. 

He’ll have to remember to wash his blankets later.

The coldness of his wooden floor is stark against how hot he feels, but it doesn’t stop him from rising to his feet and crossing the floor to the window. He pauses for a second, fingertips brushing the glass, and then pulls it open. The rain bounces off Bad’s truck, tapping a rhythm into the old metal, pooling in little puddles in the empty back, and he watches.

He calms.

Okay. What time is it?

He watches the rain for a few more seconds, and then closes his window and turns back to the clock. It tells him that it’s 8 am in luminous red numbers, and so, rain still clattering on behind him, he heads for the bathroom with some clothes and his towel and the now-dim image of white eyes burnt into the back of his mind.

-

He heads into the kitchen to find Bad already down there. He’s standing at the sink, elbow deep in a bowl of bubbles and warm water and absently gazing out of the window at the rain as he washes up.

“Morning,” Zak says, going for the coffee maker.

“Good morning,” Bad answers, shifting his gaze from the rain to him and smiling. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Not really,” he answers, and then gives his usual nervous chuckle that he does when he’s said something negative and wants to break the silence. “Had a weird dream. Did you?”

“No,” Bad says thoughtfully, setting the plate he was washing aside and reaching for a cup. “No, I had a pretty bad dream, if we’re being honest here. But, just for the record, I didn’t even eat cheese before bed.”

Zak stops, and blinks, and then turns to look at him. “...What?”

“What?”

“ _Cheese before bed?_ What the _f_ _uck_ —”

“Language,” Bad interrupts mildly, without even looking up from his washing up.

“What the _heck_ ,” he corrects himself, shaking his head, “Is that even supposed to mean?”

“Haven’t you heard that old myth, or wives tale, or whatever? You’re supposed to get nightmares if you eat cheese before bed.”

“No, dude, I haven’t.” He shakes his head again, but it’s more fondly this time, jabbing a button on the coffee maker as he does it.

“Well, that’s what they say. But I didn’t… oh, wait, do you think other dairy products count? I had some milk in my coffee last night, and I don’t usually have milk.” On the last word, he looks up at Zak, and Zak has to try really _really_ hard to not stare because his eyes are kind of pretty in their dim little kitchen, all lit up with green-blue and grey from the weather.

“Uh… I dunno, man, maybe,” he says, and turns back to the coffee maker. He notices that Bad doesn’t seem to have his usual constant cup of coffee, so he gets two cups out of the kitchen cupboard and pours them both a cup - his with sugar and milk, Bad’s black - and then slides Bad’s towards him on the counter.

“Oh, is this for me? Thank you!” Bad smiles, and then dries his hands and takes a sip. Zak sidles a little closer to him so he can see out of the window, and they stand there, the only noise in the room being the occasional sound of them taking a sip of coffee and the rain clattering on outside.

Zak’s never really been a person to enjoy the rain. He’d place himself as the type of person whose ideal weather is in the middle of summer when everyone is drunk on the heat and the people they’re with. Last summer, him and some of the friends he’d managed to make whilst working at the store wandered off down to some river with some food and drinks and spent the entire afternoon pushing each other in it. The air was full of stupid giggling and yelling, and, if he’s being entirely honest, it’s one of his favourite memories.

But now, for some reason, standing in a dark kitchen with Bad quietly drinking coffee at his side, he doesn’t really mind the rain today. For all he cares, it can rain all day if it wants to.

“What’ve you got to do today?” he murmurs, not quite wanting to break the quiet, but also feeling a little odd in the presence of a silent Bad. Bad is far from the quietest person in the world, so his silence is a little strange to him. Hearing him so quiet isn’t necessarily a bad thing. He’s just… not used to it.

“Oh, a few things! I have to take some statements from the house owner and his kids that they wanted to give to me in case it would help because they’ve had some encounters with the ghosty, and I have to go to the store and get—”

Well, there goes quiet Bad. Zak chuckles to himself and takes another sip of his coffee. He wishes he could do more to help Bad with his work, but it’s true that he doesn’t know what he’s doing in that field in any sense and it’s also true that Bad tends to do a lot of his work at ridiculous times in the morning.

And it’s not as if Bad has an actual sleep schedule. Zak’s seen the empty energy drink cans that have started to collect in the trash can in the kitchen ever since Bad moved in. Every time he asks what Bad’s doing, the answer is always ‘working’ in some form. It can’t be healthy, he thinks, and then shakes his head when he re-realises the hypocrisy of him telling him off for eating peanut butter for dinner that one night.

“Skeppy?”

Zak jumps, and then realises Bad’s been talking this entire time and he’s been ignoring him.

“Sorry! I totally spaced out.”

Bad tuts at him. “It’s rude to ask people questions and then not even listen when they give you an answer,” he teases, setting down the empty cup in his hands.

“Can you clear your schedule this afternoon?” Zak says suddenly, his mouth moving before he’s even thought through what he’s saying.

“...What?”

“Can you?”

Bad blinks, then slowly sets down the coffee cup in his hands. “Um… I mean, I guess I could get the statements tomorrow—”

“Nice. I’m gonna head out to the store. Meet you back here at like… 12? And be ready to go out.”

“Skeppy, it’s raining!”

“And?”

Bad just looks at him. He doesn’t seem to have an answer for that, so Zak grins at him and puts down his cup, crossing the kitchen.

“12PM. Don’t forget!” he calls out from the doorway as he leaves, heading straight for the stairs to grab his wallet.

He has something to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! again the next chapter will be up tomorrow :)


	6. i'd be inclined to spend all my days going on adventures with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picnics are eaten and more promises are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER WAS PURE EVIL TO WRITE. enjoy because I DIDNT /j
> 
> chapter title is from far away friend by chloe moriondo!!

“Come on,” Zak says, hopping over a long band of brambles.

“I’m coming! I don’t want to rip my trousers,” Bad answers harriedly.

This definitely could have turned out to be one of the worst ideas Zak ever had. To his great relief, the rain stopped as he set off for the store, leaving plenty of time for the sun to bake away the pools of water and leave the ground thankfully dry. He’s not sure if he could have even gone through with the idea if it had been wet. The normal person thing to do would have been to check the weather.

Ah, well. He’s nothing if not impulsive.

“Why won’t you just tell me where we’re going?” Bad says, interrupting his train of thought. He tries to hop over the brambles, but stumbles, so Zak automatically reaches out an arm to steady him. “This muffiny track is going to kill me!”

“Muffiny?” Zak questions, amused. They’d left the regular rocky path a little while back after he’d dragged Bad, who wasn’t hugely impressed, off over a wooden stile and down a bramble-shrouded track. It wasn’t much further, now. Just over the stile at the other end, and they’d be there.

“Yes, muffiny. Now tell me where we’re going!”

“Just wait! God, you have _zero_ patience.” An offended gasp comes from behind him at that, and he laughs, turning to walk backwards down the track so he can look at him.

“Oh, no you did _not_ — okay. That’s it. I’m not talking to you.”

“Bad,” Zak groans, drawing out the ‘a’ sound. “Come on. We’re nearly there.”

“Well, there’s no reason why you can’t just _tell_ —”

He’s cut off by a shriek from Zak as he trips backwards over a snaking bit of root from not looking where he was going. He tries to reach for a tree branch, but only succeeds in scraping his hand off it on the way down, and for a second he’s pretty sure he’s probably going to land on their sandwiches in his backpack and crush them, but then he feels a hand grab his wrist and pull him securely back to his feet.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?” Bad asks, sounding ridiculously worried for the fact he’s talking to someone who didn’t even actually fall over. He places a hand on his shoulder, presumably to steady him, and then reaches for the scraped hand and examines it closely.

“Totally fine,” Zak says, stupidly embarrassed both because he nearly fell over in front of Bad and because he kind of likes him checking on him and... almost holding his hand?

He pushes that train of thought away, deciding it’s too dangerous to think about right now, and then grins mischievously. “Dude, are you hitting on me?”

“What— who— _why_ — Skeppy! _No!_ ” Bad quickly drops his wrist and yanks his hand from his shoulder and steps well away, red-faced - much to the great amusement of Zak, who tries to put a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing so much. It doesn’t work. “Oh my goodness. Can we just hurry up?”

“Sure, dude, sure,” Zak giggles. 

The stile is in view, now: an old wooden rickety thing set into the wall ahead of them. It’s framed with trees and grass, and on the other side there’s a glimpse of a sunny field.

Their destination.

“Race you for ten bucks,” Zak calls, and flashes Bad another grin before setting off running. Behind him, he hears the startled squawk of a surprised Bad, and then they’re both running for the stile, the sound of Bad’s footfalls getting closer and closer.

Zak crashes into the stile first, out of breath and giggly, and then steps aside so Bad doesn’t run straight into him. They stand there for a few seconds as they catch their breath, one giggling like an idiot and the other trying not to smile.

“Double or nothing?” Bad asks.

“On the way back,” Zak promises, and then leads the way over the stile. He hops down once he reaches the other side, holding out a hand to help Bad (he’d nearly fallen off the other side at the first stile they’d reached and he doesn’t want a repeat of that). He lands on the other side without incident, 

“Oh, this is pretty,” Bad murmurs, looking around, and he’s inclined to agree. He’d found the spot in the summer wandering around with Vurb. It’s just a field, but it’s full of wildflowers and sunlight and shady trees around the edges. On the far side, there’s a wall and then a slope and a river that they can just about hear if they stay quiet and listen hard from the position they’re in.

A good spot to make someone take a break in, Zak decides, feeling pleased with himself.

He takes off his backpack and digs out a thin blanket he’d found under his bed and looks around for a place to sit, but Bad takes the blanket from him and leads him to a spot before he can decide.

“Away from the flowers so we don’t crush them,” Bad explains, and Zak just looks at him for a second before nodding. He spreads out the blanket, and they sit down, Zak going immediately back to rummaging in the backpack. He takes out two sandwiches, hands one to Bad, and then takes out a plastic container of strawberries.

“I had to guess what you like,” Zak says, somewhat guiltily. He probably should’ve asked him, but then it wouldn’t have been a surprise. “It’s just a chicken sandwich. It’s gluten free, though. I checked all the packaging.”

“Aw, thank you!”

They begin eating in a comfortable silence, and, naturally, Zak’s mind drifts back to Bad.

Always Bad, he thinks, taking a bite of his own chicken sandwich. It’s only been about a week, and he’s constantly doing his best to ignore the way he feels like Vurb or Spifey or some other bastard from down at the store has taken a match and set him on fire (which he wouldn’t put past them) every time Bad smiles at him.

He’d _thought_ he was straight. Apparently, one ridiculously kind nerd was all it took to change that.

“When do you start the job?” Zak asks absent mindedly, picking a bit of chicken he doesn’t want out of the sandwich and flicking it aside.

“The day after tomorrow is my first run into the house. I’m just going to get a feel for the place and then head back the day after and get rid of the ghosty then,” Bad answers. There’s something else behind the way he says that so casually, so Zak frowns, finishing his sandwich and turning to look at him.

“You good? You seem a little nervous.”

Bad looks at him for a second, opens his mouth as if to speak, then glances away and fiddles with one of the crusts he’d neatly been picking off his sandwich and setting aside.

“A little,” he admits. “This is… a tricky one, that’s for sure.”

He doesn’t say anything else, so Zak shifts closer and bumps his elbow against his reassuringly.

“Hey, dude, you’ll be fine. You’re a bad boy, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Bad says, giving him a small, affectionate smile. “You make it hard to forget, Skeppy.”

Zak’s pretty sure he’s referring to how he keeps calling him Bad, but there’s so much warmth behind those words that it kind of sends his train of thought grinding to a halt. He feels his face heat up and turns back away, reaching for the strawberries as a distraction.

They lapse back into their silence as they share the packet, taking one each in turn. It only takes them a few minutes to clear the whole lot, and then Zak makes up his mind.

“I wanna come.”

“Hm?” Bad turns back to him as he wipes his hand on the grass to get rid of the strawberry juice. Zak swallows, breaks eye contact for a split second, fidgets with his fingers.

“On the job. I want to come with you.”

“No. Skeppy, that’s too dangerous—”

“We pinky promised, remember! Maybe I can’t help with all the notes and the smart stuff but I can help you in the house, and—”

“I don’t think you _understand_ —”

“ _Maybe I don’t!_ ” Zak snaps, and Bad blinks, taken aback, but he’s already going and he doesn’t want to stop. “Maybe I don’t understand, okay? I’ve never seen a dumb ghost before, and maybe I don’t know how all those fiddly devices you have work, but I _do_ know it’s dangerous in there, and I do know you’ve never dealt with anything like her - like _that_ \- before. You haven’t, have you?”

“Skeppy,” Bad starts, but Zak shakes his head, effectively cutting him off.

“ _Have you?_ ”

“...No.”

“So. Let me come with you. Deal or no deal?”

“Skeppy, please, I don’t— you— agh!”

This time, Zak waits, giving Bad time for his mind to catch up with his mouth. Bad takes off his glasses and rubs a hand over his face, letting his forehead rest on his palm, and Zak feels a little bad. He didn’t mean to stress him out. In fact, this entire operation was to do the opposite. Maybe he should’ve left it.

“It’s not safe,” he eventually says weakly, apparently unable to come up with anything else to counter his speech, and then Zak feels _horrible_ , even though he knows he’s won. Before he even really processes what he’s doing, he moves closer again and wraps his arms around his neck, resting his head on his shoulder.

Bad stiffens for a few seconds, then relaxes slightly, curling an arm around him loosely in return. Zak, getting the distinct feeling Bad isn’t used to hugs, lets go a few seconds later.

“I can look after myself. And I won’t do anything dumb. I promise,” he says, nodding sagely, and Bad sighs, pushing his glasses back onto his nose.

“Fine. But you have to promise you’ll be careful!”

“Another pinky promise?” Zak says, amused, but holds out his finger anyway. Bad hooks his finger around his again, and the deal is done.

“Tomorrow I’ll show you how the equipment works,” Bad says. “But I might have to make you promise not to break it first.”

“We’re gonna start a pinky promise debt,” Zak says, groaning, and Bad laughs at him.

“Are you ready to head back? I have a double or nothing to win, after all.”

“Oh! Before I forget!” Zak digs back in his backpack one final time, drawing out two mildly crumpled muffins. “Muffins for the muffinhead. Gluten free.”

“ _You’re_ the muffinhead,” Bad protests, but takes one anyway. “Thank you! Chocolate is my— _Skeppy!_ ”

Zak just cackles evilly, already standing on top of the stile after distracting Bad with the muffin. “Come on! I thought you had a double or nothing to win, bitch?”

He sets off running to the sound of Bad’s flustered yell of “language!” and his own laughter ringing through the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so tired i stayed up to finish this. it is bedtime
> 
> i solemnly swear i will update within a week


	7. ghost in your house, ghost in your arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One day before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***UPDATE 2 i changed the beginning because i felt as if it was too much. its fine to read now***
> 
> sorry this took so long to update!! title is from ghosting by mother mother :-)

_He wakes up again, and he knows where he is. The darkness is deafening, and even though he knows what’s about to happen, the panic still twists and nips at his stomach, bubbling up in the back of his throat._

_He runs, like usual, the force of his haste to get away ringing in his ears as his footsteps echo behind him. The familiar cold curls around him like delicate tendrils of poison, but that isn’t why he stops this time._

_The eyes are in front of him. They’re always behind him. They’ve always been behind him. So why...?_

_“Run,” the eyes seem to say, and then the shadowy figure that the eyes are set into reaches out. It grasps his shoulders, turns him around, and drifting straight towards him is something even worse than the eyes._

_It’s a figure - barely. It doesn’t seem to take steps as much as simply move horrifyingly in his direction, and the panic in his throat rises into something much more urgent and much more terrified._

_He takes a few steps backwards, unable to fully move, unable to tear his eyes away, and then the shadowy figure with the eyes reaches for his hand and yanks him away and—_

_And…_

_nothing._

-

He’s down in the kitchen by 5 AM today, swinging his legs as he sits on the counter and sips water. His hands aren’t trembling anymore; he doesn’t even know _why_ they were trembling. He woke up sweaty and terrified and shaky but with no memory of what he had dreamed about or why it had sent him into such a panic.

He suspects it was the usual. _Bitch ass eyes_ , he thinks sourly, and finishes off the glass of water.

The kitchen door opens, and a certain Bad Boy appears. He’s wrapped up in a checkered scarf and an old brown coat that looks like he’d found it abandoned in a damp shed, and he doesn’t seem to notice Zak - just yawns and heads for the back door.

“Good morning,” Zak says, and Bad jumps and stops and turns to look at him.

“Oh, hello, muffinhead,” he says fondly, and then rubs his eyes and keeps walking.

“Where are you headed?”

“To an electronics store. I don’t know _who_ thought it was a good idea to put the nearest Best Buy over an hour away and then give this house no delivery access, but I’d like to have some stern words with them,” Bad grumbles. “But I have to get a new lens before tomorrow, so…”

Zak hums in agreement, and Bad reaches for the door handle.

“You know, I did promise to help you. Twice now,” Zak adds casually, and watches as Bad’s hand stops, hovering above the handle. “If you happened to, oh, I don’t know, need someone to come along with you, I could set you up with that.”

“...Are you asking to come with me?”

“I might be.”

Bad looks at him for a second, and then sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll be in the truck, you muffin. Wrap up warm, okay?”

-

Zak slides into the passenger side of Bad’s truck a few minutes later. It’s surprisingly cozy - Bad’s kept it extremely neat except for the papers sticking out of the glove box and there’s a few stickers dotted on the dashboard: a smiley face, a dog, and a Florida Gators logo.

“My dad put that one there,” Bad admits guiltily, following Zak’s line of sight. “I’m not a huge sports fan, if I’m being totally honest.”

The car ride goes by a lot quicker than Zak had thought due to the fact he ends up spending at least half of it asleep. Lulled by the hum of sleepy conversation, the dusky sky outside, and the never-quite-relenting thrum of drizzle against metal, he finds himself dangerously close to sleep a good few times, but every time he’s almost gone Bad quietens as if to let him rest and it wakes him back up again.

“Keep talking,” he mumbles eventually. He almost feels mean for leaving Bad with no one to talk to, but he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in so agonisingly long that he finds himself desperate for a chance to drift off just for a little while.

“What do you mean?” Bad glances over at him, confused, and then finally, _thankfully_ seems to catch on and starts rambling about something or other.

Zak doesn’t hear anything further than “the other day” before he’s out for the count. 

He wakes up as the truck falls to a stop 30 minutes later, rubbing his eyes and feeling disoriented for a moment until he remembers where he is. Bad is rummaging for something under his seat, and once he successfully manages to extract the lost item - his wallet - he sits up and spots him watching curiously.

“Oh, did I wake you?” he says apologetically, putting the wallet in an inside pocket.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Zak answers, and then rubs his eyes again. “Are we here?”

“We are! Are you going to wait in the truck? I can leave you the key so you don’t get cold.”

“I wanna come with you,” Zak says decisively, and gets out.

And regrets it.

To be fair, Bad _had_ warned him it would be cold, and he had blatantly ignored said warning in favour of shoving on a hoodie and calling it quits, so it’s entirely his own fault that he ends up stood there shivering as he waits for Bad to get a reusable bag out of the glove compartment.

“I told you to wrap up warm,” scolds Bad, straightening up to look at him once he’s retrieved the bag and crossing his arms.

“My bad,” he says sheepishly, curling his arms around himself and thoroughly wishing he’d listened, but before he can come up with an excuse there’s a scarf being wrapped around his neck by careful hands and every single word seems to dry up in his throat.

“There. It’s not ideal, but it should help,” the newly scarfless Bad says. “Honestly, Skeppy, I can’t believe you right now.”

He opens his mouth to retaliate, then closes it again and swallows heavily, looking away. To his great relief, Bad doesn’t stick around to wait for a response - he tuts at him and then leads the way into Best Buy.

Zak subtly tucks the scarf over his nose, pauses to shake his head at himself, and then follows.

-

They’re in the truck on the way home when he says it.

The Best Buy trip ended up being declared an official success. Bad seems pleased with the lens he picked out _and_ they bought a new toaster (“Look, I’m just saying maybe sometimes you’re capable of setting the house on fire even without a flammable instrument in the kitchen.” “Are you calling me hot?” “ _Skeppy_ —”), _and_ , of course, he can’t forget Bad letting him wear his scarf.

He’s still wearing it now, tucked into it in the passenger seat of the truck even though he has no real reason to be wearing it any more. He watches two raindrops chase each other down the window, head resting on the inside of the door, and then Bad speaks.

“You’ve seemed a little... off, today,” Bad says, and Zak doesn’t miss the worried glance that gets tossed his way. He’s slowly getting used to them, learning when he gives them and what each one means. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m just tired,” he answers. It’s not a lie. Even after his nap in the car, the exhaustion is still prominent in his bones and he can feel it with every little movement he makes. 

“Hmm.”

They fall silent, and Zak picks at his fingernail, wondering what he’s supposed to say next. It’s not as if he can just go _hey, by the way, I’ve been getting these super creepy dreams ever since you moved in and I can’t sleep anymore and I don’t know what’s going on_ because then he’s just going to think he’s insane.

“It’s okay. I haven’t been sleeping great either,” Bad says, halting Zak’s train of thought, and for a split second Zak thinks _maybe he gets them too_ before he remembers Bad’s awful sleep schedule. That’s all he means by it, he says, mentally scolding himself. _Pull yourself together_. The lack of sleep is affecting him even more than he thought.

“Guess we’d better make sure we get some sleep in before tomorrow,” Zak says, trying to lighten the mood a little, but Bad just worries at his bottom lip and says nothing.

Neither of them speak the rest of the way home.

-

They pull back into the side of the house at 9:06 am, the number standing out in stark white as Zak checks his phone. Bad puts the truck into park, and then they sit there for a minute before Zak reaches for the door handle.

“Wait,” Bad says to him quietly, and he draws his hand back. 

“I— I know this is a little dumb, and I know we’ve already done this whole thing a thousand times before, but… can you promise me something?”

Zak doesn’t think he’s ever seen Bad this anxious over something, so he agrees.

“I’m still not sure you coming tomorrow is a good idea,” Bad admits, lacing and unlacing his fingers together. They make eye contact for a few seconds before Bad breaks it again. “But if you’re going to insist, I…”

He falls silent, visibly swallows, eyes tracing the numbers on the radio as if they’ll tell him what to say. Zak isn’t sure when it got so ominous, but there’s a feeling of dread settling in the bottom of his stomach and he’s not sure he likes it.

At all.

“I just need you to say you’ll listen to me,” Bad says, pausing to take a choked breath, “If I tell you to do something. To keep you safe.”

On the ‘safe’ their eyes meet again, and Bad holds his gaze this time, and there’s a slight hint of desperation and worry and something so genuinely fearful in them that only grows the pit in Zak’s stomach.

He reaches out to squeeze Bad’s arm. “Look—”

“ _Please_ , I—”

“ _Hey_ ,” Zak says, shifting to take the other’s shaking hands in his and squeeze them. “I promise, okay? I promise. Please don’t get upset. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t quite understand what’s gotten Bad so worked up, but he must have helped a little because after a few seconds Bad exhales again and nods and then squeezes his hands thankfully before drawing them away.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Zak says. “Did I ever tell you I make a really awesome hot chocolate?”

“Have you ever set the stove on fire with that one?”

Zak opens his mouth to speak, thoroughly stunned at the quick turnaround, and he almost retaliates when Bad gives him a little tearful but genuine giggle and he realises he doesn’t have the heart.

“You won’t be saying that when I set the house on fire on purpose,” he says finally, shaking his head at him and reaching again for the door handle.

"I'll tell you about all the equipment this evening instead, then, if we're going to take a break?"

"This evening," agrees Zak, unable to believe that this man _still_ has work on his mind. They finally leave the confines of the truck in search of hot chocolate and terrible daytime TV and he pushes all thoughts about ghosts and eyes out of the back of his mind.

He can deal with those later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading so far :-)


	8. you’re playing ring round my head, i’ll wear you like a halo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are met, one last shopping trip is made and a scarf is passed back and forth.
> 
> A lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this is posted at the same time as chapter 9 :)
> 
> title is from stupid for you by waterparks!

Whatever it was that shook Bad so badly, he doesn’t bring it up.

Once they’re inside, Zak makes the promised hot chocolate whilst Bad flicks through the channels and puts on some comedy prank series they’d started the other day. He comes back into the living room, hands over one of the mugs, sits cross-legged next to him on the couch, and they watch.

“It’s good,” Bad murmurs, five minutes into the show.

“What?”

“The hot chocolate. It’s really good, actually.”

“See,” Zak says proudly, leaning back into the couch. “I literally make the best hot chocolate in the whole world and nobody ever believes me.”

“Well, I don’t know about it being the _best_ ,” Bad begins slyly, and their usual banter resumes as normal, to Zak’s relief. He isn’t a huge fan of the odd silences that keep popping up between them; he _hates_ silence, but unpleasant silences with Bad are even worse.

They get as far as lunchtime before Bad insists that they have to get up and eat something.

“We have flour,” Bad calls from the kitchen. “And ham. And, uh… well, actually, that’s it.”

“So… we eat flour and ham for lunch?” Zak asks, which earns him a look from Bad, who appears back in the living room doorway.

“ _No,_ you muffinhead. When did you even last go to the store?”

“The day before you moved in. So, really, this is all your fault.”

“ _What?_ Skeppy, you literally work there! Why didn’t you just go after work?”

“Because I have all the _night shifts_ and when I _leave_ we _close!_ Why didn’t _you_ go to the store?”

“I was working!”

“Oh, you were _working._ ” 

“You know what? Fine. I’m not talking to you,” Bad says, giving him another look before sitting back down on the couch and crossing his arms.

“ _Bad,_ ” Zak groans. As much as he’d like to sit and tease him further, he’s hungry. “Look, we can just go now. I’ll buy everything with my staff discount and then you can pay me back for your stuff later. Deal?”

“Alright,” Bad agrees reluctantly, and Zak marvels at how he managed to last an entire twenty seconds on his I’m-not-talking-to-you bit.

-

“Are your friends working today?” Bad asks mildly, pushing the cart into the store.

“Probably,” says Zak. They had argued about whether or not Zak could sit in the cart for five minutes. Zak had lost.

He half hopes that, perhaps by some random miracle sent by God, his friends would either not be working or would happen to miss them entirely. Don’t get him wrong: he loves his friends dearly, but he had really been looking forward to doing next to nothing today and he’s so weighed down by fatigue that he really just wants to grab what they need and go.

However, he has never been God’s favourite, so he only gets as far as the checkouts before Spifey and Vurb, who are perched on the checkouts chatting, spot him and start waving enthusiastically.

“Yo! Zak!” Vurb calls, hopping off the baggage area that he definitely should not have been sitting on. “So, this is Bad Boy?”

“This is Bad,” Zak confirms, dumping their stuff onto the conveyor haphazardly.

“What— _Skeppy!_ ” Bad says indignantly, giving Zak a look and reorganising the items so they’re in order of how they need to be packed. “Did you seriously tell them that’s my name?”

“It _is_ your name. You told me.”

Bad makes an annoyed little noise at him and then turns to the other two, offering them a friendly smile. “My name is _Darryl_. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Spifey said, nudging a giggling Vurb out of the way and reaching for the scanner. “We’ve heard a _lot_ about you.”

“Zak never shuts up about you,” interjects Vurb, leaning on Spifey’s shoulder and giving them a shit-eating grin.

“He talks about me?”

Spifey scans the milk and nods sagely. “Oh, all the time.”

“That’s not true!” Zak snatches up one of the reusable bags from the glove box that Bad had insisted on using and gives Spifey a sour look, but all he gets in return is a smile and a wink.

“It’s absolutely true,” Vurb interrupts. “Nice scarf. Where’d you get that from, hm?”

What— oh.

Oh no.

“Wait,” Bad says slowly, looking at him, hand hovering over the bag where he’d been about to put a box of muffin mix into it, and Zak has never wished for him to shut up before but now he’s genuinely considering it. “You’re still wearing my scarf?”

Shit.

“No!” he says quickly, even though all three of them are looking at him clearly wearing it. “Shut up! I forgot!”

“Uh huh,” Spifey says, giggling as he scans something, and Zak hastily rips off the scarf and thrusts it into Bad’s hands, unable to meet his eyes. He busies himself with shoving stuff into the bags to avoid the curious stare being thrown his way.

He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed about it. He was cold so Bad lent him his scarf and he just… forgot to take it off, that’s all. That’s the end of it. It’s a perfectly normal friendly thing to do.

But his face still heats up with Bad’s gaze hovering over him.

“You tired, Zak? You seem a little bit cranky today,” Vurb asks, and although his tone is light Zak can detect the hint of concern behind his words. He’s known Vurb for long enough, and although he teases him relentlessly Zak knows he cares very much.

“No.”

They leave the store five minutes later, but there’s no words said between them as he puts the cart back and Bad silently starts up the truck. He knows he should say _something_ \- should explain why he reacted the way he did; why he hadn’t taken the scarf off since this morning even though they’d been sitting in a warm enough house with no need for extra layers. It was a dumb fucking mistake that shouldn’t mean anything at all - so why did he get so mad and why are they being so quiet and why does he hate it so much?

And, as the icing on the cake which must be God giving him a big old fuck you on top of everything else, the truck is _freezing_. It hasn’t been running for long enough to warm up yet, and it’s still a horrible day outside, so Zak finds himself sorely wishing more than ever that he hadn’t given up the scarf.

He crosses his arms, half out of grumpiness and half out of coldness, and glares out of the window.

“Are you cold?”

Bad’s voice is soft, and yet still perfectly clear in the quiet of the truck. Zak’s eyes widen. He risks a glance in his direction, but Bad’s eyes are firmly fixed on the road.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, clearing his throat and averting his gaze back towards the window.

“It’ll be a little while before the heating kicks in,” Bad says. Zak nods, mouth dry, and they fall back into silence before there’s a quiet shuffling noise and then a soft item being pressed into his hands.

The scarf.

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but it’ll keep you warm. Even though, just for the record, I _did_ tell you to wrap up warm this morning.”

Zak chuckles at that, letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and putting the scarf back on, and Bad finally looks away from the road for a second to give him a small smile in return.

-

A lunch of sandwiches and chips and fruit is made (by Bad) once they get back inside, and whilst Zak would very much like to go back to watching TV afterwards, Bad is insistent that they have to get to work.

“I have to show you the equipment, Skeppy. Unless you don’t want to come anymore?”

“I do!”

“Okay then! Just making sure.”

He’s only been in Bad’s room once before since he likes to give him his privacy, but that’s where he’d led for his ‘training’. He closes the door behind them with a soft click and gestures for him to sit on the bed whilst he rummages under it, so Zak takes the time to glance around curiously.

The room is almost identical to his, which is expected, since it’s practically a mirror image of his own. The only notable differences are that Bad has a small picture frame propped up on his bedside table, and the far desk is covered in papers and notebooks and a couple of (presumably empty) energy drink cans.

And those awful curtains. He absolutely hates those curtains. They’re _pointless_.

Bad places one of the boxes on the bed and takes a seat next to him, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts.

“So, you remember what this one does, right?” Bad begins, holding up the device he’d shown him as they ate the waffles.

“It reads waves or something, right?”

“Yeah! EM waves. You just hold it out in front of you. That one’s pretty easy.” He sets it aside, and then draws out a camera. “And this is for pictures.”

“A camera? For pictures? No way, dude.”

“Okay, mister, no need to get all smart.”

Zak laughs and reaches for it, turning it over in his hands and looking for the power button. “What are we taking pictures of?”

“Any evidence of ghost activity we find. Maybe even of the ghosty itself,” Bad says thoughtfully, and then reaches over and turns it on for him. “You can try it out, if you want. Go ahead, take a picture.”

He examines the camera closely. There must be a million different buttons and settings that he has no idea how to work, so he decides to leave them as they are, opting to put his free arm around Bad’s neck and hold the camera out in front of them.

“Say cheese!” he says, and snaps a picture.

“What— _Skeppy!_ ” Bad stammers, sounding flustered. Zak pulls the camera back towards them, and Bad reluctantly presses a button, and the picture they just took flashes up on the screen. Zak’s grinning, and Bad looks startled, but it isn’t blurry like he was expecting.

“See, it’s a good picture!”

“Oh my goodness. Delete that.”

“No way, dude!” Zak holds the camera close to him protectively. “Can we print it out?”

“No! Skeppy, that’s an awful picture,” Bad complains, trying to grab it from him. “Can we at least take a better one? I wasn’t even smiling.”

“Oh, we can take another?”

“If it’ll make you delete the first one, yes!”

Zak fiddles with the camera until it flicks back onto the photo option, then puts his arm back around Bad, who relaxes a little and puts his arm around him in return.

“Ready?"

_Click._

“Aww! Look!” Zak smiles and holds out the camera once Bad’s put it back onto the gallery. They’re both smiling in the photo this time.

“See, that’s much better,” Bad says, whose ears have gone a little pink. “We can print out that one, if you like.”

It surprisingly doesn’t take as long as Zak thought it would to go through the rest of the equipment. Most of it is pretty easy to get the hang of, even if he does nearly break Bad’s thermometer by dropping it on the floor (“Shit!” “ _Language!_ ”), and they’re done just before it hits 5pm.

Bad’s room is already dark by this time, lit only by the warm glow of his bedside lamp. The sky is clouded over with grey, projecting shadows through the useless curtains as the rain hurls itself against the window. Bad glances over at it, and then crosses the room and closes the curtains (to little effect).

“Well, that’s about it,” Bad says, coming back to sit next to him. “We should be all ready. I’ll move everything into my rucksack before we go tomorrow.”

Zak nods, and then remembers that he’s still wearing the scarf. He slips it off and hands it back to Bad, who gives him a thankful smile and sets it next to them on the bed.

“Make sure you put on something warmer tomorrow, okay? I can give you a coat or something if you need it. We’ll head out about 8PM.”

“Why so late?”

“Ghosts are a little more active at night,” Bad explains. “...And, um, people are less likely to question what you’re doing. It can be a little awkward when you tell them you’re hunting for ghosts and you’re contracted to do it.”

“Can we take a snack?”

“...What?”

“Like, what if we get hungry?”

“Oh my goodness, no! That’ll just take up space in the rucksack!”

“Aw. Not even, like, a bag of chips or something?”

Bad sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. You can have _one_ small snack, okay? Now, go away. I have to finalise my notes.”

“I’m gonna pick out such a good snack, dude,” Zak says, and gives him a cheeky grin before leaving the room and heading straight for the kitchen.


	9. interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night texting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is entirely text messages! a little break before everything goes horribly wrong /j
> 
> title isnt from anything for this chapter :-)

**_idots gc - 11:23PM_ **

**Vurb**

zak

zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak

zak

zak

zak

zak

zak

zak

ZAK

ZAK

I KNOW UR ONLINE

ZAK

**You**

Oh my god

what

**Vurb**

hi zacky <3

**Spifey**

no i think it would be zakky

cause his name is zak

right??

like zakky

**Vurb**

zacky is more fun to type

try it

zacky

**Spifey**

zacky

zacky

oh true

zacky

**Vurb**

zacky

**You**

wtf

**Vurb**

no but seriously i wanted to check ur all good

we didnt mean to overstep or anything in the store

**You**

no ur all goid

god

good

Im just a little edited

tired

fucking autocorrect

u didnt overstp or anythign dw

**Vurb**

let us know if we ever do ok?

love u zacky <3

**You**

love u too <3

**Spifey**

do i get some love too

zacky i love u

**You**

No

**Spifey**

WHAT

FINE I DONT LOVE YOU

vurb i love you now

**Vurb**

lets suck each others toes

**Spifey**

nvm

**You**

jk love u<3

**Finn**

what’s popping

**You**

heeeeeey

how was work

**Finn**

boring

SO fucking boring

Karens keep trying to tell me about their day

like i don’t care just let me paint your nails so we can both leave

**Vurb**

FINN

finn ur coming in the summer right

**Finn**

duh

i miss u guys

**Spifey**

awwww

finn loves us :D

**Zelk**

Shut up

I am trying to sleep

Go away

Go to bed

**Vurb**

dude its only like 11

**Zelk**

IM SLEEPING

**Spifey**

lame

  
  


**_bad boy:) - 11:31PM_ **

**Bad**

O.o

Why are you awake

**You**

cant slepp

sleep

why are ouu awake

didnt u go to be d at like

8

**Bad**

Yes

I cant sleep D:

**You**

are u nervous about tomrorow?

tomorow

**Bad**

tomorrow*

**You**

u literally jsut entirely avoided my qiesiton

**Bad**

Huh O_o

**You**

ok bad

ok

well itll be fine

dont stress urself out about it

do u want waffles for breakfast tomrrow

i can make u fawfles

wakfles

fuck

waffles***

**Bad**

Language!!! D:

Skeppyyyy D:

**You**

oops

my bad

sorry

oh wait

get it

my BAD

bad

**Bad**

@-@

Oh my goodness

Im done

**You**

LMOA

ok but do u want waffles

wait

hold on ill be back in a second

  
  


**_idots gc - 11:34PM_ **

**Vurb**

ZAK

**Spifey**

ZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK

**Finn**

i’m telling u he died

**Vurb**

ZACKY COME BACK TO US

COME TO THE LIGHT

ZA

K

ZAK

ZAK

AK

ZAK

**You**

omfg

wht

my fucking notificastions dude

**Spifey**

notificastions

**You**

shut up

**Finn**

where did u go

**Vurb**

he was probably texting his boyfriend

**Finn**

WHAT

I LEAVE TOWN FOR A MONTH

AND YOU GET A BOYFRIEND

WHAT

WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN

**You**

NO

I DONT HAVE ABOYFIENF

STOP

VURB

**Vurb**

LMAOOOOO

finn he has a new roommate

mr Bad Boy

they flirt all the time

**You**

omfg

no

no

ive knwon this guy for like

a week

stop

**Vurb**

ok and you can still think hes cute

which u totally do

**You**

VURB NO I DONT

**Spifey**

werent you wearing his scarf

**You**

no

no

no

n9o

i fuking wasnt

**Vurb**

and u talk about him ALL THE TIME

**You**

this conversationis over

**Vurb**

im so excited for our shift tomorrow

im gonna annoy you so much dude

**You**

what

when

since when

**Vurb**

wat

**You**

since when did i ahv ea shfit tomrrow

**Vurb**

uhhhhhhh

since we set the new schedule???

dude u knew u had a shift

we were literally talking about it the other day

**You**

fuck

george can you cover of rme

please

pleas

please

please

dude

imbe gignng you

**Spifey**

no <3

**You**

DUD EPLEASE

PLEASE

ill give u

$100

please

**Spifey**

LETS GOOOOO

IM GETTING BAG

i wouldve done it for free

**You**

i hate you

bitch

**Vurb**

wait why cant u do it

**You**

im busy

**Vurb**

WITH BAD BOY?????

**You**

vurb i swear to fucjkijgn god

  
  


**_bad boy:) - 11:39PM_ **

**Bad**

Ooh

yes I would like waffles owo

Skeppy

skeppyyyyyyyyyy

skeeppy D:

Did u go to sleep?

skeppyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

**You**

uwu

**Bad**

Oh your awake :D

owo

**You**

uwu

**Bad**

owo

**You**

uwu

  
  


**_idots gc - 11:40PM_ **

**Vurb**

i bet he went to text his boyfriend again

**You**

sTIOP

  
  


**_bad boy:) - 11:40PM_ **

**Bad**

owo

When are u going to sleep

**You**

i dont knowwww

bad

baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad

i cant sleep

**Bad**

I knowwwww D:

I cant sleep either

**You**

are u ready for tomorrow

**Bad**

Hmm

Dont forget you promised to be safe

**You**

i didnt forget

i am so safe dude

i am the safest person ever

**Bad**

Skeppy D:

**You**

IM KIDIDNG

i promised remember

i will be safe

and listen to you

almighty bad boy

his highness

**Bad**

O-o

I thought my name was Bad

**You**

almighty bad

**Bad**

:D

Im sleepy now

Im going to bed

night Skeppy :)

Make sure you get some sleep

You need to be well rested for tomorrow >:O

**You**

i know bad

ok

goodnight

sleep well

**Bad**

Yes owo

You too

**You**

goodnight

**Bad**

Goodnight

**You**

goodnight

**Bad**

skeppy D:

**You**

what

**Bad**

Stoppppp

i have to say it back

**You**

okay okay

goodnight

:)

  
  


**Bad**

Goodnight owo

Sleep tight

Dont let the bugs bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 10 next. get ready


	10. at the end of everything, hold onto anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **small edit 9/2/21 because apparently i dont know my lefts and rights /lh**
> 
> title is from night in the woods just cause i thought it was fitting :) enjoy!

As per usual recently, Zak’s day begins at 5 am.

He catches his breath, runs a hand through his hair, and listens to the thunder and the patter of the rain against the window he must have forgotten to close last night. The house is quiet and sleepy and still, an uneasy liminal space that only adds to the sick feeling that’s settled in his stomach overnight. 

He crosses the room and closes the window.

Five minutes later and he’s in the shower, letting the hot water run over his face and trying to bleed away the memory of the eyes. It was different again today, he recalls blearily, tipping his chin up towards the shower head and closing his eyes. It changed just enough to be unsettling, to leave a small ball of nerves and unease tangled in his stomach.

The eyes were there again, of course. And so was the… _creature_. But this time, the eyes left him, the shadowy figure darting away into the near distance. The _thing_ stalked after it, a silent drifting shell, and it had swiped and the eyes had disappeared just like that. The one constant thing across every single nightmare he’s had and it was gone, just like that, leaving him feeling horrifically alone in the freezing void. The figure had turned back to him, all hollow bloodthirst, and…

He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut, and reaches for the soap. He washes his hair a little harder than usual, scrubs at himself a little more harshly. Something is wrong, and his body _feels_ as if something is wrong, with the horrible feeling in his gut and the way he can’t seem to stop trembling fully even though it’s been an entire sixteen minutes since he woke. He doesn’t really want breakfast at all, but he promised Bad.

Bad, he thinks, exhaling. He might feel uneasy, but Bad brings a new sense of normality. He steps out of the shower and dries himself off and clothes himself in some joggers and a sweatshirt before he finds himself on autopilot standing outside his door.

He can’t wake him up. Bad went to bed at _least_ at the same time as him, so it’d be unfair to deprive him of all the sleep he can get. He turns away to slink back to his own room, but the weird feeling lodged in the back of his mind that’s desperate for some company stops him. For a second, he feels like a kid standing outside his parents’ door to bother them after a bad dream, and he almost wants to laugh bitterly at how stupid this entire situation is.

Before he can stop himself, he gives the door a light tap - light enough that he desperately hopes it won’t wake him up if he isn’t already awake. “Bad?”

There’s silence for a second before he gets a response. “Yeah?” comes the muffled response. If Zak didn’t know better, he’d say his voice was trembling. 

He really needs to stop projecting.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” Bad answers quietly.

He stands there, not sure what to say next. He can’t just come out and say ‘oh, I just wanted your company’ because that’s _weird_.

Even if it does happen to be true.

“...Do you wanna make waffles with me?” he asks.

Pause.

“Sure. I’ll be down in a second, okay?”

-

Bad arrives in the kitchen two minutes later, face pale and his hair ruffled with sleep, and they make waffles in near silence.

“Where do you want to eat them?” Bad murmurs. Zak thinks for a second, and then leads him into the living room. He shuts the curtains, turns on the lamp in the corner, and takes a seat in front of the couch on the floor, patting the spot next to him. Bad sits down and hands him his plate, and then Zak drags the designated couch blanket off it and around both of their shoulders.

To his relief, Bad doesn’t question why his hands are still trembling ever so slightly, and he doesn’t comment on Bad’s paleness. He’s nervous, he thinks to himself, reluctantly taking a bite of the food he doesn’t really want. Of course he’s nervous; he said himself that this is the biggest job he’s ever done, and him ignoring the question about it last night only confirms it.

“They’re good, but I’m not really hungry,” Bad says guiltily, toying with the waffle with his fork.

“I’m not either,” admits Zak, giving him a friendly shoulder bump, “But it’s probably not good to skip breakfast. Especially not when we have things to do, you know?”

“Mhm,” Bad says, sounding unconvinced, but he takes another bite anyway. He looks genuinely miserable, and with his mussed up hair Zak really just wants to give him a hug. He knows that Bad isn’t hugely fond of them, however, so he puts an arm around him instead.

“Hey, don’t be nervous. It’ll be fine. You’ll do really good and the dude will write you a reference or something. Is that how it works?”

“No,” Bad answers with a chuckle, leaning into him a little. “No, it’s not. He might recommend me to someone, but that’s only if I do _really_ good.”

“You will! You’re amazing with all that ghost stuff.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re really cool, dude,” Zak says, and he’s kind of surprised by how much he means what he’s saying. “You are. I mean it.”

“I believe you,” Bad says, face flushing pink.

They eat in silence for a little while, knees touching. Zak’s glad for the closeness; the unease still lingers in the back of his mind, but the weird solidarity of sitting on the living room floor and eating waffles is somewhat comforting.

“You know, you’re really cool too,” Bad says eventually, avoiding his gaze and fiddling with the edge of the blanket nonchalantly. “I wouldn’t let you come with me if I didn’t trust you.”

Zak stops, then sets down his fork and turns to look at him, genuinely touched. “You trust me?”

Bad shyly meets his gaze. “I trust you.”

“You mean that?”

“I do.”

-

During the truck ride there, hours later, the unease in Zak’s stomach comes back in full force. He shifts uncomfortably, wrapped up in a coat he’d dug out of his closet and Bad’s scarf (“I don’t want you to be cold again.” “I thought you said you trusted me?” “Not your dressing habits!”), and stares at the scenery passing by.

The sky is an inky grey-black, with the only light coming from the scattered streetlights and the wavering beams of the headlights, and the rain has risen from a calming pitter-patter on metal to a violent attempt to break inside and invade the warm bubble of the truck. The storm’s only gotten heavier as the day’s worn on, and Zak doesn’t like it.

As if to match the storm, Bad’s mood has only gone downhill in terms that his nervousness seems to have hit him again. He grips the steering wheel, mouth pressed into a thin line, and Zak wishes he had something left to say to help, but he can’t even calm his _own_ nerves. He feels about as sick as Bad looks and he doesn’t even know why. All he has is the mounting feeling of nausea and that something is horribly wrong.

Or that something is about to _go_ wrong?

No, Zak tells himself sternly. No, that’s not the right way to think. Don’t think that. That thought pattern is dangerous. Nothing is going to go wrong. Bad knows what he’s doing.

That thought comforts him a little. Bad _does_ know what he’s doing, and that’s an undeniable truth. He’s done this before, and all he asks is that Zak listens to him.

And that’s okay. He can do that. He can listen, and things will be fine.

He takes a breath, adjusts the scarf, and waits for the drive to be over.

-

“We’re here,” Bad says softly.

Zak opens his eyes. He might’ve dozed off a little, head resting against the cool glass of the window. He watches as Bad pulls out the rucksack from under the seat, then rubs at his forehead. Is that a headache starting?

“Here.” Bad hands him a flashlight, so Zak shakes his head to fully wake himself up and then fiddles with it until he finds where the power button is. Bad takes out his own flashlight, then takes out the camera and hands it to Zak.

“You want me to take this? I don’t know how to work the settings,” Zak says, frowning.

“They should be fine on what they’re on. You can just keep it in your pocket for now.”

Zak slips the camera into his pocket, taking care to zip it up to avoid the risk of it falling out, and then Bad rummages in his rucksack again and takes out the EMF reader.

“You take this, too. Keep that in your other hand,” Bad says, flicking it on for him. The number hovers at almost 0, occasionally jumping up a little. “And I’ll take the thermometer. Oh! One last thing.”

Zak waits patiently as Bad draws out two more devices and hands one to him before zipping the rucksack back up. It’s a radio: he can recognise that much.

“I got them yesterday - just in case we get separated. The ghosty should listen to us if we’re together, though, so we shouldn't need to split up or anything.” Bad puts his away in his pocket, so Zak copies him, stuffing it in next to the camera.

“Is my snack still in there?” Zak asks, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Oh my goodness. Yes, your can of peanuts is in there. You can have them later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yup.”

“Stay with me,” Bad reminds him one last time, and then opens his door and gets out. Zak does the same, and they click their lights on in tandem, Zak directing his upwards to shine on the house.

It’s a typical suburban house; one that Zak’s seen many times drawn over in Bad’s notes. From the outside, you wouldn’t even guess it was haunted, other than that it looks like it’s been left unoccupied for a little while by the overgrown weeds and the dust visible in the windows.

Then again, their own front path doesn’t look much better, he muses, and sets off after Bad.

They crunch their way across the gravel, stopping outside of the front door briefly whilst Bad fumbles in his pocket for the key, and then it swings open and Bad steps inside first. Zak follows, then goes to shut the door behind them on autopilot.

“Hey! Are you crazy?” Bad hisses, swatting at him. “Leave that open, you muffinhead!”

“Oh. Whoops.”

They shine their flashlights around the entrance hall, and, upon seeing nothing, Bad taps his shoulder and gestures to him and they wander further inside. The house is an eerie sort of quiet that Zak’s never quite experienced before. Everywhere he shines his light, little dust particles are floating around as if they’re the first ones to disturb the place in a long time. He gets the inexplicable feeling that they aren’t alone; like something’s watching them from the walls.

Waiting.

“The ghost can hear us,” Bad explains quietly, as they cross the threshold into the kitchen. “Ask it to give us a sign, but don’t say its name.”

“Why can’t I say its name?”

“Some ghosts really don’t like it,” Bad says, and then turns to address the room. “Give us a sign.”

“Give us a sign,” Zak repeats. They stand in the middle of the kitchen. None of the devices move: the EMF reader stays at 0; the thermometer reads normal.

“It’s not in here,” Bad says, sounding a little less on edge, and moves to look around the dining room. It’s fascinating watching him like this - he’s clearly entirely in his element, and Zak would enjoy it if it wasn’t for the horrible feeling still lodged in his stomach.

“Does the ghost, like, move around?”

“Kind of,” Bad says, scanning the walls with his torch. “They have, like, a set room that they _really_ like, so they tend to stay in there until you disturb them. Then they might wander a little. If you disturb them enough, though…”

He trails off, looking at Zak apprehensively.

“What?”

“Well… hm. Can you go find the light switch for me?”

With that, Bad turns back to scanning the walls, and Zak frowns a little, but does as he’s asked. He wanders back into the kitchen, glances around, and then finds the switch and flips it.

“Oh, good. The breaker’s on,” Bad says as the kitchen lights flicker on, relieved. “We’ll go find that later, so we can go turn the power back on if the ghosty turns it off.”

“The ghost can turn the power off?”

“The ghosty can do a lot of things, but only in the house,” Bad says, coming to join him in the kitchen. “Let’s go check another room. And don’t turn on too many lights, okay?”

They check the laundry room and the living room in turn, but don’t find anything that Bad deems suspicious.

“You sure this place is haunted?” Zak jokes, to try and ignore the way his unease is growing every step they take deeper into the house.

“Oh my goodness. Yes, Skeppy. Give us a sign.”

“Give us a sign.”

Nothing.

“It can take a little while to find its room,” Bad explains, leading him back into the entrance hall. “Let’s head upstairs.”

They get as far as exactly three steps up.

With no warning other than a quiet buzz, they’re suddenly plunged into complete darkness as the hallway light, alongside the rest, flickers out.

“Dang it! The ghosty must have done that,” Bad grumbles, raising his flashlight. They point their lights up the stairs, then turn back the way they came, picking their way carefully so they don’t trip.

“So… now we go find the breaker?” Zak asks, almost stumbling over the bottom step.

“That’s right.”

Bad leads the way, back towards the kitchen but right, and then they’re standing at the top of a _very_ dark flight of stairs. Even when they shine their flashlights down, the bottom remains an ominous void; the kind of dark basement you see in horror movies and tut at the protagonists for going into anyway even though there’s clearly some sort of supernatural entity or axe murderer lurking at the bottom.

“The breaker’s down here, I think,” he says, but Zak barely hears him.

Something about the darkness of that void moves the lodged unease in his stomach to a horrible feeling that something is really _really wrong._

Bad glances over at him, as if surprised at the lack of returning quip, and frowns. “Hey, wait, are you okay? You look a little off.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Zak forces out, even though he feels as if his entire throat has dried up. This is Bad’s job; he can’t say that something weirdly feels wrong and he wants to leave because he can’t just mess this up for him.

But _fuck_ , something feels wrong.

“Okay. Let’s go down, then,” Bad says determinedly, and, to Zak’s great relief, doesn’t let go of his hand - just gives it a gentle squeeze and then leads the way down the steps. Bad shines his torch on the breaker, steps off the bottom step towards it—

And they’re hit with a solid wall of cold.

“ _Oh,_ ” says Bad, breaker forgotten, holding out the thermometer even though they can clearly _feel_ that it’s below freezing and can see their breath fogging up in little clouds in front of them. It’s as if the heating that keeps the rest of the house at a regular 70 degrees stopped working the second they left the bottom step. It’s a familiar cold; one that Zak feels like he’s felt before, seeping into his bones and freezing his blood over.

He _hates_ it.

“ _Skeppy!_ ” Bad says, snapping him out of his thoughts. “The EMF reader! Hold it up!”

He does as he’s told, and to his surprise, it’s at a solid 5.

“Ruth Garcia? Give us a sign,” Bad says, voice shaking a little, and whether it’s from the cold or from fear, Zak doesn’t know. He wraps Bad’s scarf a little tighter around himself and fights the urge to throw up on the spot.

For a moment, nothing happens.

And then it’s there.

And Zak’s seen it before, the disgusting figure standing motionless in the corner. Bad yells next to him, and he’s probably supposed to be taking a picture right now but _holy shit. Holy shit, it’s the thing, the thing that was in his dream last night and the night before and the night before that—_

“ _Zak_ ,” he hears Bad says desperately, and then there’s a hand scrabbling at his pocket, fumbling with the zip and reaching for the camera. There’s a click of a shutter, and then Bad’s grabbing at his hand and pulling him back up the basement stairs. He stumbles, and Bad shouts something and helps him back up, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying and can’t even bring himself to care as Bad yanks him across the entrance hall and up the steps towards the second floor. He’s dimly aware that the lights are flickering, and also that they’re being chased, but his entire train of thought feels like it's been hurled directly against a brick wall. Nothing makes sense. He shouldn’t have seen that thing before. How has he seen it before? 

He stops, and he doesn’t know why he’s stopped, because Bad’s still running but his hand must’ve slipped out of his grasp. He freezes like a deer in headlights, and it’s _so cold, everything’s so cold, so familiar and cold,_ and then Bad’s in front of him again.

“Run!” he yells, grabbing his shoulders and turning him around, and the figure is drifting towards them. The panic rises like acid, and he takes a few clumsy steps backwards - why can’t he move? Hasn’t he been here before? - and then Bad’s taking hold of his hand again and pulling him away. They clatter down the hallway, and then Bad dashes into the side and yanks at a handle and pulls Zak into the closet he’s just opened. He closes it again with a bang, and then clicks his flashlight off and reaches over and turns off Zak’s and then pulls him down to sit next to him.

“Are you with me?” Bad whispers, taking Zak’s face in his hands, and Zak nods numbly. Bad exhales in relief, letting go of him. “I thought you were about to pass out on me there. Don’t talk, okay?”

“I’ve seen it, I’ve seen it before,” Zak says desperately, grabbing at Bad’s coat. “That thing—”

“Skeppy, hold on, shush, it can hear us!”

“No, Bad, I—!”

Then there’s a hand being pressed over his mouth. He struggles against it, and hears a frustrated little noise before there’s arms being wrapped around him.

“Skeppy, please,” Bad says, voice tight. Zak wants to try and speak again, and then somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers _he promised, he promised to listen_ , so he shuts up, clinging to Bad’s coat and trying to match his own harried breathing with the soft ones in his ear. There’s a faint sound of slow footsteps outside, walking back and forth, and Bad is trembling a little against him.

For what feels like both forever and no time at all, they sit in the dark of the closet with bated breath and their flashlights off, just waiting. 

Eventually, Zak pulls away to look at Bad with wide eyes. Bad squeezes his shoulder, then peers out through the slats in the closet.

The lights are back off.

“I should’ve told you,” Bad whispers guiltily, turning back to look at him. “I’m so sorry, Skeppy, I— when the lights flicker like that they enter a— a sort of hunting mode where they lock all the doors and you have to hide, I don’t know why I didn’t even think to _tell_ you—”

“I’ve seen that thing before,” Zak manages to get out. He feels sick - sick and disgusted and wrong. He reaches for his discarded flashlight, clicking it back on so he can see.

He’s never been scared of the dark before.

Bad bites his lip, glancing back outside the closet, and then takes the rucksack off and sets it down next to him. 

“What are you doing?” Zak asks sharply, the bad feeling creeping back into his senses.

Bad doesn’t answer at first, just opens the rucksack and takes out a white container and some candles. “Stay here.”

“What?”

“Stay here, okay? I’m gonna go get it.”

“ _What_ — Bad, we made a deal—”

“And didn’t you make a promise to listen to me?”

Zak feels the panic bubble back up in his throat. “This is a dumb idea!”

“Just trust me, okay?”

He doesn’t get a chance to argue before Bad snatches back up his flashlight and slips out of the closet, closing the door behind him, and he’s alone.

This is a dumb idea. This is a _blatantly fucking stupid idea_ , he thinks, running his hands through his hair. _Why is he going alone?_ He has no reason to go alone. He’d even said himself that they wouldn’t split up, hadn't he?

He yanks out the radio, fiddling with it, but Bad never showed him how to work it and in his panic he can’t get anything out of it further than angry static so he makes a frustrated noise and tosses it aside, hearing it clatter off the wall of the closet.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bad - he _does_ , wholeheartedly, but something in the back of his mind is screaming at him that this is about to all go so _wrong_.

But _why?_ Bad’s smart, and Bad knows what he’s doing, so why does everything feel so fucking ominous?

The lights are flickering again outside the closet, a warning sign clear as day, and he feels like he’s been here before even though he’s never set foot in this house in his life, stuck in this stupid situation even though he’s _never supposed to have seen that stupid fucking ghost before—_

He freezes, eyes widening.

Suddenly, as if it’s made perfect sense all along, it clicks.

Without a second thought, he snatches up the rucksack and his flashlight and yanks open the closet and thunders down the hallway. He goes straight for the stairs, nearly falls straight down them, and then spots _it_ and stops halfway down, peering through the gaps in the banister frantically to catch a glimpse of Bad.

Who, in something that can only be described as God holding up a huge middle finger at them both, emerges from the living room and nearly barrels directly into the ghost. 

Bad gasps and trips backwards, backs away towards the front door, gaze fixed on the figure, even though both of them _know_ that it’s locked, Bad had told him _himself_ that the doors are locked.

He’s cornered in like prey in a wild animal’s cage.

Zak rummages frantically in the rucksack, searching for something, _anything_ that he can use, and his hands close around the stupid peanut can he’d insisted on bringing. He draws it out, then straightens up and shakes it viciously.

The ghost stops, only mere feet away from Bad, who’s pressing himself into the door as if he can phase through it, and looks around for the source of the noise. Zak shakes it one more time and then hurls it into the living room, and, in a move Zak _really_ didn’t expect to work, the ghost floats after it like a weird dog.

Bad follows, disappearing into the living room, and Zak hurtles down the rest of the stairs and sprints across the hall after them.

The ghost is trapped.

The white container was _salt_ , Zak realises, watching as it hovers furiously around the confines of the neat circle. In the time he’d been alone, _before_ he’d walked headlong into the ghost, Bad must’ve set up the trap to kill it. He’s also managed to light candles - there’s a carefully placed ring of them, but they look dangerously close to going out in the blindingly cold fury of the ghost and, for a split second, Zak’s certain they’re going to go out and _the ghost’s going to get out and_ —

And Bad says something in a language he doesn’t quite understand.

Everything goes white, so much so that Zak throws up a hand to cover his eyes, and then he’s being yanked behind an armchair and Bad’s pulling his hands away from his face. Zak peers up at him, sees that he’s covering his ears with his hands, and copies him and screws his eyes shut just as there’s a loud screech, a crash, and then…

Silence.

Everything’s dark, but to Zak’s immense relief, it’s not like that void. It’s not dark and cold like that. It’s a regular old darkened house, and the walls aren’t watching anymore.

They crouch there, breathing heavily, staring at each other with wide eyes, and then Bad crawls out from behind the armchair and gets up, leaving Zak to uncover his ears and follow.

There’s a large scorch mark on the floor inside the ring, and the furniture closest looks mildly singed, but that’s about the extent of the damage. Bad steps forward, surveys the damage, takes a shaky breath.

“Let’s— let’s just come back and clear that up tomorrow.”

He packs all the equipment from their pockets into the rucksack and leads them outside, back out through the newly unlocked doors into what is less of a storm and more of a heavy rain shower, and then Zak stops and grabs his arm and shakes his head.

Bad turns to look at him, and as soon as he does, Zak barrels into his arms.

“Skeppy—”

“ _Fuck_ , I thought you were gonna die.”

To his surprise, he doesn’t even get languaged. Bad wraps his arms around his shoulders, lets out a quiet, relieved little sigh, and rain is soaking through their clothes but Zak can’t bring himself to care and he gets the distinct impression that Bad doesn’t really care, either.

“How did you know to do that?” Bad whispers.

“In my dream, last night,” Zak begins, pulling away to look at him, “I saw it. And you. But it wasn’t you. You were just… eyes? And a shadow. And it— it killed you. And I realised it was you. And that’s where I’ve seen the thing before, ‘cause ever since you moved in I’ve been having these stupid fucking dreams _every single night_ and I— I had to _do_ something—”

“I’ve been having them too.”

“ _What?_ ”

“It was why I left the closet,” Bad whispers, voice barely audible. “I realised right before we got in the closet that I dreamed if we stayed in there, it was going to come and kill you. So I led it away.”

“But you didn’t expect it to be right outside the door,” Zak continues.

Bad shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

They stand there for a few seconds, getting thoroughly rained on, and Zak _really_ wants to make a wisecrack about the convenience of bringing the peanuts but he can’t bring himself to break the silence. Instead, Bad squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, and then nods and leads Zak back towards the truck.

-

The ride home is relatively silent.

Zak has a million and one questions to ask him - _how long have you been getting the dreams? Why were they linked to the ghost? What do they mean?_ \- but he’s so weirdly drained that he can’t bring himself to say a single one. He just tucks himself against the door, head resting on the glass again, absolutely sodden, and is distinctly glad to be alive.

Distinctly glad they’re _both_ alive.

To his relief, Bad doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talking just yet either. The most he’d done was fiddle with the radio for a few seconds to turn it on low, as if the silence was a little too much. For the whole drive, he seems mostly on autopilot, and God, Zak can’t blame him.

They get home at almost midnight. For some reason, they find themselves outside the front door instead of traipsing around the back like they probably should, so Zak takes the key from Bad and wrestles with the lock to compensate for him having to drive the whole way home. They step inside, Zak closes and locks the door, and they’re stood in the safety of their own entrance hall.

“We should head up and get changed before we do anything else,” Bad says wearily, grimacing as he strips off his own sopping wet coat and boots and leaves them by the front door. “And then… ooh, would you like a hot drink? Hot drinks are always nice after getting cold.”

“Sure, Bad,” Zak says, sleepily tugging off his own shoes and coat and hanging the scarf over the door handle to dry. They head upstairs, and Bad gives him a small smile before disappearing into his room. Zak turns towards his own room, steps inside, and closes the door behind him softly.

And it’s over. Finally, officially over.

He exhales, leaning against the door and letting his head fall against it. The rain has died off entirely, leaving a faint sound of crickets that Zak can just about hear if he quiets his breathing and listens hard through the closed window, and his room is the same as it always is, with the dying fairy lights and plain white walls and his desk and his bed.

Zak’s never valued the normality of a dark, boring room so much in his entire life.

He strips off the wet clothes, dumping them in a pile to deal with later, and hastily towels himself off before digging out a pair of pyjamas from a drawer and throwing them on. He should probably shower, but schedules that in his brain for first thing tomorrow morning because he’s _really_ not sure he can summon the effort for that.

Instead, he sits himself down on the edge of the bed, wraps one of the blankets around him. There’s so much that he needs to process that he can’t even begin to process it. He listens to the crickets outside the window until he hears Bad go downstairs, and then listens to the faint sound of him moving around the kitchen. Once he hears the stairs creak as a telltale sign of Bad coming back up them, he gets up and pokes his head around the door.

Bad pauses at the top of the stairs upon spotting Zak, a mug in each hand, clothed in an old black t-shirt and some checked pyjama bottoms that look like he’s bought them seventh hand from a thrift store, and smiles.

“Oh, hi! I made you a drink,” he says, and hands him over the mug. It’s a hot chocolate, and Zak cups the mug in his hands, enjoying the warmth. “If you want, you can… come drink it with me? In my room?”

“Oh, sure,” Zak says, secretly glad for the thought of some company. They cross the hallway, and Bad sets down the mug on his bedside table before crossing the room to shut the useless curtains (as if it made any difference with them open). His lamp bathes the room in a nice orange-yellow glow, and it’s weirdly cozy.

“Here,” Bad says, hopping on the bed and picking his mug back up. He pats the spot next to him, and Zak joins him, crawling across to sit on Bad's right. He fidgets there a little awkwardly, sips his drink, and then…

“What the _fuck_ , Bad!”

“Wh— _language!_ ” Bad scolds him, jumping out of his skin and turning to give him a look. “No bad language in my bedroom, mister!”

“You _actually_ let me tell you I make the best hot chocolate in the whole world whilst you’re fully capable of this shit? This shit is stuff of the fucking Gods, dude, are you _kidding me?_ ”

“Agh! Language, language, language!”

“I hate you. _And_ I love you. This is so good,” he grumbles, and takes another drink. “You’re the hot chocolate maker from now on.”

“You’re a bad muffin,” Bad says disapprovingly, but then smiles despite himself. “But thank you!”

Zak shakes his head, all awkwardness gone, and shifts a little closer so their elbows and knees are touching. Bad’s warm, and it’s… nice. Oddly unfamiliar, but… nice.

They sit quietly for a little while drinking their _unfairly good_ hot chocolate. The faint sound of crickets is audible in here, too, and Zak’s never appreciated nature like this before but tonight he strains his ears to listen.

“Are you alright?”

“Huh?” Zak turns back towards him, resting his mug on his knee.

“That was… an experience,” Bad says hesitantly, and his eyes are full of nothing but concern. “And… you seemed a little shaken in there, that’s all.”

Zak thinks back to the house, back to everything that happened in there, back to the sheer panic he remembers, and shakes his head to clear it. He doesn’t want to think about it right now.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he says. Bad, entirely unconvinced, gives his arm a squeeze. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yes, I’m okay,” Bad answers, like a liar.

They sit in silence for a little while longer, and then Zak, out of sheer tiredness and a desire to both comfort and be comforted, rests his head on his shoulder. Bad seems to freeze for a second, as if unsure what to do, and then he slowly puts an arm around him.

“Are you gonna fall asleep?” Bad says softly.

“Maybe.” A pause. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, that’s okay.”

Another pause.

“The ghost is gone, right?”

“Hmm?”

“The ghost? It’s gone?”

“Yes, Skeppy, the ghosty is gone.”

“And it can’t come back?”

“Nope. It’s moved on for good. But, even if it hadn’t, ghosts can’t leave their house.”

“But we dreamed about it,” Zak says sleepily. “Does that count as leaving?”

“I… um… Skeppy, I don’t actually know. This… this hasn’t happened before.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Pause.

“I guess that’s something else for me to research.”

“I’m glad you moved in.”

Pause.

“...I’m glad I moved in too.”

“G’night, Bad.”

“Night, Skeppy.”

And he’s asleep.

And, for the first time in days, he doesn’t dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading!!


	11. i see your eyes in the flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from green by cavetown :-)
> 
> sorry its been a long time since an update! i got stuck writing a part and decided to leave it and come back to it later. it just so happened that later happened to be like 2 weeks later oops. anyway enjoy!!

Zak wakes up at a healthy 10am curled up in blankets that aren’t his own and with his face buried in a pillow that smells of someone else.

He didn’t dream, he realises, reaching out to pat sheets that he’s glad to feel aren’t sweat-soaked. It’s been a while since he’s woken up without his heart racing or his breaths coming fast or a lingering feeling of terror in the back of his mind, and he must admit, he’s missed it sorely. 

He’s debating going back to sleep for a few minutes (or a few hours) when he hears a tiny cough and the sound of turning paper. He glances up, and Bad is sitting there next to him, legs crossed, fully engrossed in a book and sipping at a cup of coffee.

“Hey,” Zak says, voice a little hoarse from sleep. Bad starts and glances over at him, and then smiles warmly.

“Oh, good morning.”

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Um… yes, actually, I did,” Bad muses, and takes a sip of his coffee. “Did you?”

Zak yawns, rubbing at his eyes and enjoying how the sun coming in through the window is warming the sheets. “Yeah. I didn’t dream last night.”

“Me neither.” Pause. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

They fall back into silence. Bad turns his attention back to his book, and Zak dozes off a little, perfectly content to snooze in the sun. He swears Bad’s bed, despite being the exact same as his own in the room opposite, is comfier.

“Is this okay?” Zak says sleepily, after a little while.

“Hm?”

“Sleeping here? I can go to my room.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Actually... I quite like the company, if we’re being totally honest,” Bad muses, not looking up from his book. “But it’s okay if you want to leave.”

“Nah. It’s warm.”

He lays there for another five minutes before curiosity gets the better of him. Then he rolls over onto his back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and Bad glances over at the movement.

“Can I ask you some things?”

“Of course you can, Skeppy.”

Zak pushes himself up to sit and reaches for the pillow, tugging it into his lap. He had a million questions on his mind last night, but now he’s not sure where to begin as Bad carefully sets his book aside and turns to face him.

“Last night,” Zak begins slowly, fiddling idly with the corner of the pillowcase, “You said you didn’t know why we got the dreams, right?”

“...I don’t,” Bad says, looking a little guilty. Zak isn’t sure why; this isn’t _his_ fault. This hasn’t happened before. Why would he be expected to know the cause?

“It’s okay. If we don’t get them again then it’s not that important, right?”

“I… guess not.”

The conversation lulls. Zak glances out of the window, watching a tree sway outside in the gentle breeze. It’s nice weather today. Isn’t there some rule that it gets sunny the day after a thunderstorm? He can’t remember. Maybe it’s the other way around. Or maybe he’s mixing that up with the thing about the red sky and the shepherds in the morning Bad had told him a few days ago. He isn’t sure.

“Skeppy?"

“Huh? Sorry, I spaced out.”

“I asked what your dreams were like. Like… you know, what was in them?”

“My dreams?” Zak hesitates. They aren’t pleasant to think about, but it’s probably something they have to talk about at some point. “Uh. Well, you were in them. You were just floating white eye things for a little while, and then you were this kind of shadowy thing. And the last dream yesterday…”

Now he knows what the last dream meant, it’s harder to say out loud. The image of the eyes disappearing pops up in the back of his mind, eerily clear, and he feels a shiver run down his spine. That was a very real thing that could’ve happened yesterday, and it makes him feel sick to think about. What would he have done, if it had happened? 

What _could_ he have done?

“It’s okay, Skeppy, you can stop,” Bad says, resting a hand on his arm lightly and pulling him back out of his thoughts. “I know. Mine were the same.”

He nods, appreciating the gesture of comfort. Bad takes his hand back, Zak rearranges himself so the pillow is resting on his knees, pulling it close to his chest, and they continue.

“Just one more question,” Zak says, seeing the way Bad is anxiously picking at a tiny chip in the top of his mug. Bad doesn’t voice his anxiety, but nods. “This is kind of a stupid one.”

“Nothing you say is stupid,” Bad interjects, glancing up to meet his eyes and frowning lightly. The sincerity of it catches Zak off guard, and he clears his throat, feeling his face grow a little warm.

“Uh…” he chuckles nervously. Focus. “The ghost is definitely gone, right?”

“Yes, Skeppy. I said yesterday, remember? Although you _were_ a little sleepy…”

“No, I remember. I was just double checking.”

“Oh, that’s okay. Well, the ghosty is gone, so don’t worry. And, like I said, even if it wasn’t, ghosties can’t leave their house.” He pauses, frowning. Zak wishes he knew what was going on in that head of his. “Um… physically?”

Zak nods. He fiddles with the corner of the pillow, and Bad drains the rest of his coffee cup before setting it aside.

“Any more questions for me?”

“One more, actually.”

“Hm?”

“Did you eat breakfast? I’m super hungry, dude.”

Bad chuckles, setting the empty cup aside. “Oh my goodness. No, I didn’t, actually. What do you want to eat?”

“...Waffles?”

“ _Again?_ ”

-

Bad firmly tells him that it’s not healthy to have waffles again and insists on bacon and eggs, saying that he’ll cook it, so Zak lets him make breakfast. They eat in the kitchen for a change, facing each other on the little kitchen table. It’s a little rickety and one of the chairs is threatening to fall apart and it usually has a stupid old vase of fake flowers in the middle, but it’s been pushed to the side by Bad to make more room for their plates and cups. Good. Zak has always hated it.

“How did you get so good at cooking?” Zak asks, wolfing down a mouthful. “It’s _so good,_ dude!”

“This is only bacon and eggs, Skeppy. It’s pretty simple,” Bad says, sounding amused. He tuts at him and slides a glass of water (which Zak probably wouldn’t have included in his breakfast, but Bad had insisted) towards him across the table. “Oh my goodness, slow down! You’ll give yourself hiccups. And are you seriously saying you can’t cook bacon and eggs?”

“No!” Zak says defensively, taking the glass of water. “I’m just saying that if I had _happened_ to have made breakfast today then it _might_ have turned out a little more burnt.”

Bad laughs at that, and Zak drinks his water, hiding his own smile in his glass.

Once they’re done, Zak volunteers to wash up, feeling bad that Bad cooked everything. He stations himself in front of the sink and gets to work, and Bad disappears off somewhere else. Two minutes in, however, he hears the sound of _someone_ sidling up behind him.

“Hey,” Zak says, without looking up. He holds a plate under the water, and hears a distinct little throat clear from behind him that he _knows_ means he’s about to hear something he doesn’t want to hear.

“Hi,” Bad says, in the sunny way he always does. “Do… you have a shift today?”

“No,” Zak says, sensing trouble, “My next shift is tomorrow. Why?

“Well, um, I have to go back to the house today. To clear up.”

Zak stops, hand hovering under the faucet, and then he puts the plate on the drying rack and sets down the sponge and turns off the water. He turns around to look at him, drying his hands on his joggers, and is met with an anxious little smile.

“Uh huh.”

“Would you… like to come?”

He’s scared _,_ Zak realises. The ghost hunter, the one who is supposed to be a professional in this field and _know what he’s doing,_ is _scared_ to go alone.

But… he can’t blame him. What happened in that house still makes him feel sick, and if he can’t get the memory of that stupid house out of his mind then he wouldn’t be surprised if Bad can’t, either. 

“Sure, Bad, I’ll come.”

“Oh! Okay,” Bad says, giving him a relieved smile as if he didn’t expect him to agree. Which is, quite frankly, _ridiculous._

As if Zak would ever refuse.

“When are we going? I want to take a shower.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Bad turns to leave the room, spots the vase of fake flowers on the table, and shakes his head at it. “That vase is kind of ugly, don’t you think? We should put real flowers in it.”

-

The house looks different in the daytime.

It’s... peaceful, Zak decides, as they’re trudging back down the front path an hour or so after the sink conversation. Bad has his shed coat back on, with the bonus of getting to wear his own scarf because Zak took the executive decision to wrap himself up warm for a change. He’s glad he did, because their breaths fog up in little clouds in front of their faces and he can feel his nose getting a little numb from the cold. He rubs at it, half wishing he had the scarf to tuck over it, and keeps walking.

The sun shines on the windows of the house, revealing exactly just how much dust is gathered on them. It only confirms his suspicions from yesterday: there can’t have been anyone living in the house for a long, long while.

Zak grins, realising the pun of his own sentence, and turns to Bad, who’s fumbling in his pockets for the key. He glances up, hands still in his pocket, and tilts his head at him questioningly.

“Hey. There hasn’t been anyone _living_ in this house for a while. Get it?”

Bad snorts, and then shakes his head at him and raises one gloved hand to cover his smile. Zak appreciates it. Anyone else would have probably given him the deadpan for that one.

“Oh my goodness, that was awful,” Bad says, giggling.

“That was good. Give me credit.”

“No!”

Standing in front of the door feels a little less ominous now. Bad finally finds the key, holds it up triumphantly, and slips it into the lock.

The inside looks different too, Zak thinks, as they close the front door behind them with a click. It’s quiet, but it’s a soft sleepy kind of quiet, the kind that makes him feel like he should quieten his footsteps in fear of breaking the silence. It feels like a house that’s been sat empty for a good while, with absolutely no evidence of supernatural activity whatsoever.

...Except for in the living room.

“They’re going to need a new carpet,” Bad murmurs, as they stop inside the living room doorway and survey the situation. “I didn’t really think about that when I was doing the circle in here yesterday.”

Zak offers to help, but Bad declines, so he sits in the armchair they’d been hiding behind yesterday and watches as Bad sits on the floor and starts to clear up salt into a trash bag. Why is he even clearing it up if they’re going to just get rid of that carpet anyway? He decides not to question it and to just let Bad do his thing.

“What was it that you said yesterday? To get rid of the ghost?” he says instead.

“It was an incantation to complete the ritual. You know, to remove the ghosty,” Bad says absent-mindedly, picking a particularly stubborn grain of salt out of the carpet with his fingernails.

“Oh.”

They’re quiet again for a little while, but it’s a comfortable silence; one that Zak finds he doesn’t mind even though the silence of the house had set him on edge yesterday. Knowing first hand that it’s just an ordinary living room now soothes the memory in his mind a little, and he doesn’t feel as anxious turning over the idea of the dreams in his head as he waits.

“It’s just really weird,” Zak muses out loud, settling back in the armchair. “I don’t _get_ it, dude. How could we dream about something we’ve never seen before?”

“Mmm.”

“It’s not as if it looked like a guy under a white sheet making creepy noises or something. Kind of a specific thing to just… make up. I’m not sure I have the imagination for that.”

Bad stays quiet. Zak sits up to check if he’s still listening, because surely if he _had_ , he’d be poking fun at him saying he has no imagination, and finds him staring blankly at the trash bag in his hand. He’s chewing at his bottom lip, and the amount of _guilt_ Zak suddenly sees on his face is... worrying. Zak just looks at him, unsure of what to say, but he must suddenly feel Zak’s gaze because he blinks and looks up at him with the kind of air of someone who’s been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“...Bad? You good?”

“I visited the house on the day I moved in,” Bad admits quietly, looking back down at the trash bag and squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds. “In the morning. I— I had a slight run in with the ghosty in the upstairs bathroom. It mustn’t have liked the faucet being on or _something_ but… I saw it. I thought all this time that the nightmares must’ve been me remembering that morning so I didn’t worry about them but I didn’t realise you’ve been getting them too. I don’t even know _how_ you’ve been getting them too, but… that must be how you’ve seen it before. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I... I should’ve just told you.”

Silence. Bad doesn’t meet his eyes, fixing his gaze on the carpet, but there’s a slight glint in them that warns Zak that he’s dangerously close to tears and, just for a moment, Zak’s speechless. Is he supposed to be angry? He doesn’t know. He _isn’t._ How could he be?

“No, dude, you… you didn’t know,” Zak says, faltering a little because Bad’s sniffling and he feels _awful_ even though he isn’t really the cause. He gets off the armchair, coming to sit cross-legged in front of him. “It’s okay. Neither of us got hurt, right? So it’s okay.”

Bad raises a shaky hand and scrubs at his eyes. “I put you in danger,” he says softly.

Zak sighs and shakes his head. He reaches out and squeezes his arm, and Bad wipes at his eyes again, still not looking up at him, and they sit there for about ten seconds in silence before Zak decides maybe a slight topic change might help.

“You know, I _hated_ it here when I first moved in.”

A pause, then Bad finally glances up at him, giving him a searching look before he finally speaks. A confirmation to continue.

“...You hated the town?”

“Mhm. I wasn’t used to living somewhere so quiet. The only people I really talked to were Zelk and Finn over text and it drove me crazy. I was fresh out of my parents’ house in Florida where I went into the city all the time, so moving into a tiny town with my parents hours away was way out of my depth. I was super down about it for a while.”

“Well, you’re a pretty sociable person. It probably wasn’t good for you.”

“Yeah. But it kinda worked out in the end ‘cause I made friends with Spifey and Vurb after working at the store for a little bit, but there were still times when the house just felt really fucking empty. ”

“Language,” Bad says mildly, and Zak gives him a rueful smile.

“Sorry, sorry. But yeah. They came over sometimes to hang out, but most of the time I was alone and it sucked. And then you moved in, and… honestly, dude, it’s just been good. Knowing I’m not alone in the stupid house makes it feel a lot less sh— uh, a lot better. And you’re really good company, you know? We click really well, and you’re super easy to joke around with and talk to, and… well. I’m just trying to say I’m glad you’re here. I don’t care that you accidentally brought a couple of weird dreams with you. It’s whatever. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“I’m not,” Zak confirms.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve.”

“It’s okay. Really, dude, it’s okay.”

Bad nods, and to Zak’s relief, he finally looks convinced. He smiles, holding out his arms a little awkwardly.

“Hug?”

Zak stares at him for a second - _he's never asked before, has he?_ \- and then throws his arms around his neck.

“Careful! Oh my goodness, you’re going to tip me over,” Bad says, but he’s chuckling. He steadies himself with an arm and then hugs him back, and Zak’s a little embarrassed to find he _really fucking likes hugging Bad._

“Aren’t I the one who usually starts the hugs?” Zak asks, grinning like an idiot, and Bad chuckles again.

“Well, I know you like hugs!”

“Do _you?_ ”

There’s quiet for a moment.

“I like hugs from you.”

Even as they’re walking back up the path a few minutes later, long after they’ve separated and finished picking up the last remnants of the salt, those two words don’t stop echoing in the back of Zak’s mind as his nose goes numb from the cold again.

_From you._

-

A few hours later, as the day starts to edge towards evening, they’re sitting cross legged in the wildflowers in the field. Bad seems to like it here, and Zak’s glad, because it’s quite possibly his favourite spot in the whole area. Maybe they can hang out here often, he thinks, and then takes another bite of his sandwich and revels in the way the sun is keeping him warm.

Bad snips carefully at the stem of another flower next to him, adding it to the little bundle he’s accumulated in Zak’s lap.

“Most of these are blue,” Zak points out, looking down at the flowers. “You don’t want some variety?”

Bad glances over, looks at the flowers, stops. Turns a little pink. “I… didn’t realise.”

“You like blue flowers?”

“Um… yes.”

Zak looks at him for a second or two, narrowing his eyes, and then shrugs, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Get some more red ones. I like them,” he says, through a mouth full of bread and chicken and fresh tomatoes.

“You could _help,_ mister.”

“There’s only one pair of scissors!”

Bad makes a little grumbling noise that Zak registers as mock annoyance and they return to their silent activities. Bad had insisted on collecting flowers before he ate, and Zak, feeling a little bad, had tried to feed him some of his sandwich earlier by holding it up to his mouth as he worked. Bad had taken a bite on autopilot before realising what he’d done, and yelled at him, red-faced, whilst Zak had cackled. He decides trying it again probably wouldn’t go down very well.

“I think that’s enough flowers,” Zak says instead. “You gotta eat your sandwich, dude.”

“I _am_ pretty hungry,” Bad muses, and sets down his scissors. Zak hands him the sandwich, and then giggles at the look Bad gives him.

“What?”

“I still can’t believe you tried to feed it to me.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to feel left out on sandwich time!”

“Oh my goodness, I was going to eat it afterwards anyway!” Bad says, and his face is dusted pink again. “I can’t believe you.”

“Really? You can’t?”

Bad regards him, and then huffs.

“Actually, you’re right. I can definitely believe that’s something you’d do.”

Zak laughs, and Bad smiles, and then they fall into a comfortable silence for a little while as they munch happily. His thoughts drift back to the house earlier, and to the ghost, as he thinks they probably will for a long time.

“What do you think happens to ghosts after they… leave?” he asks, picking at the crusts on his sandwich and taking care not to spill any crumbs onto the flowers. Bad _hmms_ next to him and takes a bite of his own.

“I think they’re misunderstood,” Bad says after swallowing his mouthful, in a way that tells Zak that he must’ve thought about this before. To be fair, he muses, in a career where you work around ghosts, you’d probably think about death and what comes after it a lot more than other people. “I don’t think they mean to hurt anyone. I don’t know what happens after they leave because that’s the same as wondering what happens after death and no one really knows that, but I hope that wherever they are, they’re in a better place.”

Zak goes quiet for a little while. He wasn’t really expecting that kind of answer. Maybe an “I don’t know” or a “nothing” or even “ghosty heaven”, but not… that. That was…

“You’re a good person,” Zak says eventually, voice soft, lost in thought. Bad meets his gaze and smiles, a little bittersweetly.

“I hope so. I try to be.”

“You are.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

They smile at each other, genuinely this time, and then Zak finishes the last bite of his sandwich and gathers the flowers together into a bundle. He stands up, then holds out a hand to help up Bad, who takes it and brushes the crumbs off his trousers.

“Hold on,” Bad says, and then he’s stepping close to Zak and tying string from a pocket inside his coat around the stems of the flowers in his hands. “This’ll keep them together. You’d probably drop them all otherwise, you muffinhead.”

His hands brush against Zak’s briefly, and whilst Bad doesn’t seem fazed at all by the contact, Zak feels his face warming up. 

_Why does he keep reacting like that?_

“Alright,” Bad says, knotting the string. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.”

As they walk, Zak glances down at the flowers in his hand. They’re almost entirely blue and red, with a few flowers of other colours that Bad must have found pretty dotted amongst, and Zak knows for definite that this will end his hatred of Kitchen Vase. He glances over at Bad, who's humming softly to himself, and smiles.

Yeah. The flowers are pretty.

“Hey, Bad?”

“Hm?”

“Whilst we’re on the path of fixing things we hate around the house, there’s these curtains in your room…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! chapters will be longer like this from now on!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading so far!


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